


Habeous Corpus

by PetLeopard56, Slasherfem



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Gregory House / Sherlock Holmes Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 77,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetLeopard56/pseuds/PetLeopard56, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slasherfem/pseuds/Slasherfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three years, it's finally finished!  Imagine an alternate universe in which all our favorite 'House' characters are transposed into 19th Century A. Conan Doyle style Sherlock Holmes characters.  Please note that every character in this story has a past 'House' connection, from the main cast to guest stars that only appeared on one episode.</p>
<p>I challenge the reader to find those connections and match the 'House' character with it's very own  'Sherlock Holmes Habeous Corpus' connection.  I'm looking forward to your feedback.  </p>
<p>As is required, I insert the usual disclaimer so that the 'suits' at Fox, Bad Hat Harry Productions and all associated networks would not throw a hissy fit and feel a need to torture me with lawyers, guns and money.  </p>
<p>To my audience, please throw your imaginations into overdrive and just enjoy!  As I said, I'm looking forward to your feedback, be it positive or negative. </p>
<p>With that said, Dear Reader, let the game be afoot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dedicated to my beautiful wife](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dedicated+to+my+beautiful+wife).



Habeous Corpus

By Pet Leopard

A Sherlock Holmes/ House adaptation

Part I

It was a calm evening for that the time of year.  Usually in the dock area, there was much mucking about the week before Halloween.  But that Saturday evening seemed pretty much oddly quiet.  Aside from the occasional peddler passing by and the town ladies’ gossip, there was nothing unusual in the air. 

That is, of course, nothing that the trained ear was able to hear.  Sherlock Holmes was always able to sense the odd and the out of place.  He closed his eyes, listening closely, as he upended the needle in his arm.  This week, opium was his drug of choice.  The dull drone of passersby was abruptly stopped by something in the air--something which he could not identify.  He tried to focus, his senses ever sharpened by the flow of intravenous drugs being pumped into his body.  The images of sounds and smell slowly coalesced into something concrete.  He opened his eyes just as the door opened to the entrance to 221B Baker Street. 

His back was turned toward the door as he let out an annoyed sigh.  Without turning around, he identified the visitor by name and greeted him.  “Hello Watson, you should really be more careful about cleaning your feet as you enter the apartment.  Tamara would have a great fit about cleaning up after your dirty footprints, old boy.”

Doctor James Watson shook his head and laughed.  “Be that as it may, Holmes, I was just coming in to check up on you.  The Inspector has been worried and I promised to come here on my cross town travels.”

Holmes turned around with an annoyed frown.  “Wait a minute! Something is wrong, old boy.  You didn’t ask me how I anticipated your coming.” 

Watson, a young man, in his mid thirties, sighed resignedly. “Because I know that you’re going to tell me anyway.”

Holmes laughed.  His raggedy beard shone in the gaslight, revealing an ever-present five o’ clock shadow.  His blue eyes narrowed as he focused in on his friend.  “Elementary, dear Watson. Your ever-present heavy footsteps and the clip clop of your shoes is unmistakable.  Your shoes are light and comfortable, yet your feet sound heavy as they bear down on the stairs. Why is that, old boy?”

Before Watson could answer, Holmes continued.  “Because you are carrying your weekday bag of medical supplies.  Thus accounting for your heavy gait.  You see, I know that you’re one of the only doctors who a) makes house calls and b) works on a Saturday.  So, what is it now? Runny noses and head colds, old boy?”

Watson shook his head.  “Just some charity work at the Prince Albert Medical Center. Speaking of medical work, I see that you got yourself all hooked up tonight.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow.  “It was either this or the pipe.  This is far quicker, gives a more substantial high and is infinitely more dangerous.”

Watson immediately opened his bag and took out his stethoscope and blood pressure monitor.  He put on his rubber gloves, snatched the needle out of Holmes’ arm, and threw it in the nearest trash can, making sure to close the lid securely.  He then hooked Holmes up to his own equipment, the two aforementioned medical apparatuses.  After studying the results, he commented, “You know, Holmes, someday you’re going to kill yourself.  If that’s what you’re trying to do, you’re pretty damn close right now.  Heartbeat irregular, blood pressure through the roof.  If you don’t stop self medicating like this, the next time I see you will be at your funeral.”

Holmes chuckled.  “Oh, the question of death, the Pandora’s box of the great beyond.  That is, of course, the only mystery that I have not solved yet, you know, Watson.”

Watson put away his medical equipment and just stared at his friend, shaking his head.  “Most people who have no one in their lives at least try to be at least a little bit socially pleasant. You just withdraw from humanity and wait for people to come to you.  No wonder you’re depressed!”

Holmes snorted.  “Hence my little pastime here, which you so unpleasantly interrupted.  And as far as people coming to me, our next clients are on their way up the stairs.  A dashing young man with long hair, accompanied by his wife, an extremely pretty brunette approximately two years younger.”

Before Watson could utter another breath, the bell rang.  The young maid, Tamara, answered the door.  She came into the parlor where Holmes and Watson were sitting.  “Sir, there is a young couple here to see you.”

Watson observed the man and woman as they entered and their description was shockingly accurate, according to his and Holmes’ prior conversation.  Holmes anticipated Watson’s next question and cut him off, in a low tone of voice.  “I’ll tell you later.  Let’s not keep our clients waiting.”

The young man was tall and handsome.  He wore a long gray jacket, well polished shoes and a tall stovepipe hat.  He handed the coat and hat to Tamara, who waited for the lady accompanying  him to remove her outdoor clothing.  She was wearing a beret and a black coat, which she handed to Tamara.  Holmes raised his eyebrows toward the maid.  She curtsied and left the room.  Watson couldn’t help but marvel at how true and accurate his friend’s description of the couple actually was.

The young man spoke first.  “Mr. Holmes, my name is Christian Robeson and this is my wife Abigail.  We are sorry to interrupt your Saturday night activities, but we are here on a matter of great urgency.”

Watson laughed.  “Indeed, your arrival has already saved a life, Mr. Robeson.  You are certainly welcome here.”

Holmes gave Watson a not-so-subtle kick to the shins, which the Robesons ignored.  While Watson was recovering from the annoying twinge of pain, Holmes gestured toward the couch.  “Please sit down, Mr. and Mrs. Robeson, and make yourselves comfortable.”  He called out to the kitchen, “Tamara, please prepare a spot of tea for our visitors.”

“Very well, sir!” came the response from the kitchen.

Holmes turned to the couple.  “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Husband and wife looked at each other and sighed.  Finally, the wife spoke.  “This is quite an embarrassing problem.  We came to you because we know that you could help us.  But please, we need you to keep this matter as private as-”

Holmes nodded as he lit his pipe.  “I assure you,  Mrs. Robeson.  Everything that you say will be kept in the strictest confidence.  Please proceed.”

The young man paused before he spoke. When he did speak, his voice was accentuated by an Australian accent.   “My wife and I are partners on the Board of Directors of  the Prince Albert Medical Center, a role that I inherited upon my father’s demise.”

Watson interrupted.  “I’m a medical consultant on that board myself.  Robeson--that name sounds familiar.  You wouldn’t be related to the world famous humanitarian Roland Robeson, now would you?”

The lady continued.  “Yes, that was my father-in-law.  He passed on, just a week ago. Very sad, it was quite unexpected, actually.”

Watson threw his hands up in the air.  “But I just played golf with him the other day!  I had no idea that he was sick.  And he was so young, barely sixty.”

Mister Robeson nodded sadly.  “That’s the point.  We don’t know how or why he died. He was  visiting the colonies with his latest lady friend, Miss Calinda Ludden, upon his most  untimely passing.”

Holmes got up off the couch and limped across the room to face his clients directly.  “So, I gather that you wish us to determine the cause of death.”

The lady sighed.  “If only it were that easy.”

Watson got up and stood near Holmes.  “I assure you, you needn’t worry.  Mr. Holmes and myself  have been through many such cases.  We have never failed to diagnose the facts and circumstances of any untimely death.  You did the right thing by coming to us.”

The couple mumbled to each other incoherently. 

Holmes looked at them, thoroughly puzzled.  “Is there something that you’re not telling us that we should know?”

Further mumbling came from husband to wife and back again.  The husband spoke up.  “I assume that such may be a little difficult if there is no body to diagnose.”

Watson’s face reddened.  “You- you-you lost the body?! When, where, how?”

The lady wiped a tear from her eye.  “How can I put this delicately? Somewhere in transit, you might say…”

Holmes immediately put the pieces together.  “So you want us to find a body, post mortem, in a questionable state of recognition and/or decomposition, which may or may not be readily identifiable.  Am I correct?”

The wife licked her lips and looked up to him.  “Quite.”

Holmes beamed at Watson.  “Watson, saddle up, we’re going to the colonies. The game is afoot!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 “We are now passing over the Atlantic Coastline.  We will be arriving at Trenton harbor within the next fifty minutes.”

The steward, an old man in his late 60’s, tipped his hat as he made the announcement to the passengers of each compartment. 

Holmes, Watson and the Robesons sat at a table in the ship’s First Class lounge together, having their afternoon tea.  Holmes slowly nodded as the husband and wife gave details about the family members and associates of the deceased. 

Abigail Robeson whispered to Watson as her husband continued talking.  “Doesn’t your friend ever take any notes?” she asked as she nodded at Holmes.  “There are lot of details to remember, you know.”       

Watson laughed.  “He has a photographic memory.  Every little thing that you tell him is getting processed at rapid fire pace, dissected for every little detail and stored in his brain’s left hemisphere for instant retrieval.  You see, a pen and paper to Sherlock Holmes has as much use as a walking stick would have to a greyhound.”

Mr. Robeson finally stopped talking and paused for a breath.  “Do you have any questions, Mr. Holmes?  I know that I was speaking at a rather rapid pace.”

Holmes nodded. “So, here’s your cast of characters: Calinda Ludden, common-law wife; Franklin Ericsohn, servant and chauffeur, lazy loafer who was on the verge of being fired; Victoria Amberling, nurse to the father of the deceased- currently, caring for Luke, retarded brother of the deceased- according to the directions of  your grandfather’s will. There’s also Olivia Thorton- Special Assistant to Miss Ludden.   And finally, there’s Luke Robeson, retarded younger brother, does light work in the kitchen and runs errands, prone to hostile outbursts and displays of temper.  Did I miss anything, Mr. Robeson?”

Robeson and his wife looked at each other, dazzled.  Watson just laughed.  The husband finally answered.  “No, that sums it up, basically.  Oh, by the by, I telegraphed police headquarters and Inspector Traub confirmed that he will meet us at the Ferry Terminal a half hour after our expected arrival.”

Holmes and Watson uttered a collective sigh. 

“Is anything wrong?” Abigail asked, puzzled.

Watson answered, after a pause.  “Mr. Holmes and I have experience working with the local law enforcement on our previous cases.  Our local police inspector in London and my friend here have a somewhat strained relationship.  However, I’m sure that we will get on just fine with your Inspector Traub.”

Holmes just nodded.  “Quite.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“No! No! NO!” the short, balding man shouted as he paced nervously in his office.  Inspector Peter Traub’s office was messy and disorganized.  He wore a wrinkled suit and the little bit of hair on his head was standing up on end.  In front of him sat Holmes, Watson and the young Robesons.  He threw files on the desk and thumbed through them nervously.  “Mr. Robeson, your father was a world renowned psychologist and philanthropist, who I had the pleasure of meeting on several occasions.  That is the only reason why I’m even listening to anything that you have to say.  The fact that you have the unmitigated nerve to bring this charlatan into my station goes beyond all--”

Holmes got up from his chair, took off his hat and faced the short man directly.  “I assure you, Inspector Traub, my credentials are quite legitimate.”

Traub’s eyes widened and he laughed sarcastically.  “I received a telegram from Scotland Yard.  Your man, Inspector Vogler, had some pretty colorful things to say about you.  In his words, he defined your techniques as being petty, sophomoric, unprofessional, undisciplined and disrespectful to all forms of authority.  I have no reason to work with you.  Even if I wanted to help you, which I don’t, you certainly have no jurisdiction here in New Jersey, let alone anywhere in this country!”

Holmes paced around the desk, picking up 10 files at random, going through them quickly.  Traub tried to grab them out of Holmes’ hand.  “Hey, put those down, Mr. Holmes, those files are confidential!  I could have you arrested for invasion of privacy!”

Holmes put down the cluttered files in order on the desk top.  “Invasion of privacy, indeed, Inspector.  You should have had your Sergeant check the fireplace in the Thompson case. Your warrant would have been applicable for exigent circumstances--considering the findings, after all. 

“And the Chang missing person’s case- have you checked the local taverns in the area?  There is a fellow there who goes by the code name ’Dragon Knight,’ who could be quite cooperative if given the proper incentive.

“As for your so-called cold case, Gordon, I believe, that was not a suicide.  The angle of the gun shot wound could not possibly have been self-inflicted.” 

He showed the photograph to Traub, who raised his eyebrows, without saying a word. Traub opened the other two files as well and slowly nodded his head.  There was a moment of silence.  Traub turned to Holmes, with an air of resignation.  “What else do you see?“

Holmes let out a sarcastic laugh.  “Clearly, Inspector, if I am quite the charlatan that you believe me to be, I would not take it upon myself to waste another moment of your precious time.  My associates and I will have to putter about ourselves.  Good day, Inspector.”  He turned to leave, but the Inspector put a light hand upon Holmes arm.

“Just a moment, Mr. Holmes.  My judgment may have been somewhat--how could I say it?--ah, hasty.  If you would take some time to go over those cases that you just showed me in greater detail, I suppose I could just for this one time overlook the jurisdictional rules.”

Holmes extended his hand.  “You are a gentleman, Inspector Traub.  I shall look forward to our all too brief collaboration.”

Traub’s eyes focused on a point somewhere on the ceiling. “Yes, whatever.  Tell me, again, what do you need?”

Holmes smiled.  “Just three things, Inspector.  One, the original death certificate, Two, the on-scene photos of the body and crime scene, also originals only, please.  Three, your own brief description and observations about what you were told, compared to your interpretation of what actually happened. "

Traub sighed.  It was going to be a long evening.    

At that moment, the desk sergeant knocked on the door.  Traub looked up, almost grateful for the moment of distraction.  “Come in!” he said quickly. 

The sergeant entered, bowed to Holmes and Watson respectfully, ignoring the young couple, and then addressed the Inspector.  “Excuse me, Inspector.  I-um-well--”

The inspector’s face reddened.  “Out with it, man!” he commanded impatiently. 

The sergeant twirled his mustache impatiently, as he scratched his head.  “Yes, quite.  There seemed to be a rather odd package delivered to us that, because of its size and oblong shape, needed to be stored in the recreation room.”

Traub shook his head.  “Fine, then. And it’s raining out, also.  We get these type of things every day, Sergeant.  I’ll look into it later.  Why you had to interrupt my meeting with Mr. Holmes here, just to tell me-”

The sergeant quickly justified himself.  “But sir, the package was addressed to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, in care of Inspector Peter Traub. Just thought you’d like to know, sir.”

Holmes looked up, interested and turned to Watson. “So the  curtain rises and the show begins, Watson.”

Watson turned to his friend, with a puzzled expression on his face.  “But Holmes, what does it mean?”

Holmes laughed.  “It means, old boy, that our current nemesis is indeed an arrogant knave. He is well informed of our comings and goings, therefore he’s someone in extremely close proximity.  Whimsical, cannot resist the urge to leave a clue, yet doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.  However, if he’s fond of games, let us play along.  Inspector, please lead us to your rec room to examine this mysterious package.“

Traub nodded to the sergeant, who lead the way.  They all followed along.  As they were on their way down the hall, Holmes turned to the young man.  “Mr. Robeson, does anyone who you know of have a preoccupation for practical jokes?”

Robeson shook his head. “What makes you assume that this is a practical joke?”

Holmes laughed.  “Mr. Robeson, attempting to hide a chimpanzee on a banana farm is surely not an attempt at stealth.”

Robeson looked puzzled, but Watson covered for his friend.  “Trust him, he knows what he’s doing.”

The sergeant opened the door to the rec room, which was now empty.  Clearly, none of New Jersey’s Finest was comfortable enough to be in the same room with the strange box. 

Holmes walked ahead of his associates.  He surveyed the box, walking around it slowly, without saying a word.  It was an odd combination of wood and cheap metal.  The box was well used, no doubt. Small remnants of mold and rust were there on various places. It resembled a steamer trunk, the kind used to put on trains to carry large amounts of  clothing or luggage.  He got out his magnifying glass and spent another few minutes looking more carefully at the oblong trunk.  The Robesons, Watson and Inspector Traub stirred uncomfortably.

Finally, Holmes turned to Watson.  “What do you think, Watson?”

Watson took a step closer, examining the tags.  “Freight delivery, no doubt.  Probably transported via railroad.”

Holmes turned to Mrs. Robeson.  “What do you think, Mrs. Robeson?  Is there anything familiar about this box to you?”

The dark-haired woman timidly stepped forward and let out a gasp.  “Surely, it can’t be.  It looks like the same box in which our relatives transported the body of our dear father to the states.”

Watson picked up on the inconsistency, even before Holmes spoke.  “And how would you know this, Mrs. Robeson, if your parents reside on the English continent?”

The woman hesitated, but her husband responded to cover for her.  “Our great grandfather bought two identical sets of luggage for our parents upon the occasion of their wedding. Upon the happy event of our own wedding and move to the states, we were given the second trunk to stow our goods.  It is stored  in the attic of our estate.”

Holmes smiled, but reserved an air of doubt.  “I believe that you do have an identical trunk in your attic.  You would gain nothing by lying about that--however--”

Watson interrupted and shook his head.  “Holmes, I hardly see how talking about trunks is relevant--”

Holmes poked his arm in an annoying gesture.  “Before you rudely interrupted, Watson, I was going to say that such was just conjecture at this point anyway.  We will know more when we open the trunk.”

Traub’s eyes focused on the ceiling.  “Very well.  Let us open this thing and be done with it.”

Holmes nodded.  “Affirmative. Inspector Traub--your revolver please.”  Traub opened his mouth to speak.  “No questions,” Holmes told him firmly.  “Your revolver please, Inspector!”

Very reluctantly, Traub handed over his pocket weapon to Holmes.  Holmes gestured for everyone to stand back.  When all was clear, Holmes stepped forward, counting his footsteps in precision.  He then got down on one knee and took a moment to focus, and then he aimed the gun at the lock to the trunk. He carefully fired just one bullet and the lock was torn asunder completely. 

A millisecond later, the lip flipped open abruptly and a skeleton-like figure with a wig on its head sat upright.  A howl of laughter emanated from the trunk.  “Ha! Ha! Ha!  Happy Halloween, Mr. Holmes!  Welcome to New Jersey! Ha! Ha! Ha!”  The mechanical skeleton hunched forward and the recording stopped. 

They all stared, dumbfounded, for a moment or two.

Watson was the first to speak.  “Holmes, how did you know?”

Holmes just laughed.  “Elementary, dear Watson.  All of you were concentrating so much on the crate itself that you bore no attention to the smaller details.  The string that extended from the crate to the outside should have been a clue.  The lock triggered a mechanism which operated whatever our villain had in mind for us.  However, even I did not know what was really in the crate itself.  It was too well concealed.  I just knew it was mechanical.  I had no way of knowing whether it was dangerous or just a prankish attempt at sick humor.”

Watson turned to Mr. and Mrs. Robeson.  “I have never quite understood the American preoccupation with the festival on All Hallow’s Eve.  You observe it quite differently than we do.”

Abigail addressed Watson indignantly.  “Surely you’re not insinuating, Dr. Watson, that we had any knowledge of--”

Holmes put up his hands.  “The clues will speak for themselves, Mrs. Robeson…”  He looked at her carefully.  “Perhaps in ways we have not anticipated, actually.”

Holmes walked over to the wig and plucked a hair out carefully with a pair of tweezers. He then took out his magnifying glass and examined the hair closely for a silent moment.  He then slowly nodded his head.  He quickly turned to Mr. Robeson.  “Mr. Robeson, did your father have curly blondish brown hair?”

Robeson looked at him in a puzzled manner.  “Yes, but I don’t see--”

Holmes held up his hand.  “I beg your forbearance.  All will be explained momentarily.  Your hat, Mr. Robeson, please..”

Robeson shook his head in a gesture of protest, but Holmes held up his hand before he could speak.  “Please indulge me, Mr. Robeson.  I promise that all will be clear as to my reason and purpose within another moment.”

Robeson reluctantly handed over his top hat to Holmes.  The detective quickly took the hat from his hands; almost as though he was going to grab it.  Holmes turned away and took out a strand of hair that was stuck to the inner rim-band of the hat and analyzed it carefully with his magnifying glass. 

Holmes looked grim as he turned around and faced Abigail. 

“Miss Robeson--”

She cut him off, before he could say another word.  “Missus, if you please, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes snorted and shook his head.  “Be that as it may, or rather if it may…I merely wanted to apologize for what I’m about to do..”

Her face reddened.  “What the--”

Before she could finish her sentence, Holmes quickly plucked a hair from the back of her head.

“Ow!”  she yelled. 

Her husband rushed at him, but was held back by Watson and Traub.  “You insensitive rube, you better bloody well have an explanation!”  His Aussie accent thickened as he spoke. 

Holmes did not say a word, just analyzed the lady’s strand of hair under the magnifying glass and sighed.

Watson pulled his friend aside.  “Holmes, if you’re going somewhere with this, now is the time to speak up.”

Holmes stifled a sorrowful gasp.  He ignored Watson and turned to the three startled Americans, who were whispering among themselves.  Christian tried to comfort Abigail.  Traub mumbled something about an asylum.  Watson was just getting really nervous. 

Finally Holmes spoke up.  “Two issues were resolved by my little experiment.  First of all, I had determined that our bony friend in the cargo case is just an idea of a really bad Halloween prop.  The bones that were pieced together were evidence of a rather sloppy attempt to mock my intelligence.  Well, so much for that.  The important thing, my friends, lies in the so-called wig of hair.  Now most wigs, you see are made of synthetic hair substitutes.  But this--”

He pulled the wig off of  the skeleton’s head in an extremely gentle manner  and displayed it carefully to them, as though he were exhibiting the crown jewels.  “This is the key, right here.  We are dealing with a very dangerous villain here, or maybe group of villains--most likely the later, actually, judging by the complexity of this little prank.  I digress--getting back to the wig.  By taking a sample of hair off of Mr. Robeson, who is the son of the deceased, I ascertained that the wig in question was once the hair of someone who is very closely related to you--more than likely the deceased himself.”

There was a collective gasp.  After an awkward silence, Watson was the first to speak.  “If what you’re saying is correct, Holmes, then the deceased was literally scalped before he was buried.  How many people would be sick enough or skilled enough to do something like that?”

Holmes nodded seriously.  “Clearly, we are not dealing with amateurs, Watson.”

Abigail still did not seem comfortable.  “If you will pardon a moment of my own self indulgence, I can understand why you needed a sample of my husband’s hair, but of what purpose was it to you to pluck out and examine a strand of my hair?  How would such be relevant to--”

Holmes held up his hand, as he paced the room.  “I was just getting to that point.  In the course of my work, I do indeed do things that may not prove relevant to either annoy and/or inflict minor injury.  I am the first to admit to such.  Inspector Traub, if you find me guilty of such after this case is solved, please feel free to prosecute me to the fullest extent of the law.  However, for now, once again, I beg your indulgence.  Something that young Abigail here said had caught my interest.  She addressed the deceased with the title of  ‘our father.’  She did not call him by the proper title, as he would be related to her, if indeed she and Christian were married, as ‘my father-in-law’ or ‘Christian’s father.’  Therefore, the similarity in structure, texture, strength, color and consistency of Abigail’s hair to that of the wig and that of Christian here would prove that the three are related by blood.  Such leads me to the conclusion that Christian and Abigail are not husband and wife, but brother and sister actually.”

Traub started to open his mouth to speak.  Watson sat down, in a gesture of exhaustion.  Abigail and Christian whispered to each other.  All eyes were fixed on them.  Christian, at last, came forward and spoke.

“The deception was necessary.  We needed to present ourselves as husband and wife because we needed to protect the good name of our deceased father.”

Abigail continued.  “Indeed, not only his name, but his money as well.  You see, we’re almost ashamed to admit it, but our father was prone to his little dalliances with other women.  There have already been one or two claims of children of another woman, other than our mother, just popping up and claiming what they believe to be a share of their inheritance.  Who can actually prove anything?”

Christian took up where she left off.  “Quite true, you know.  So we hired our own barrister and did some research.  She told us that money could be properly distributed from husband to wife more expediently than from brother to sister.  So, with all that was going on--well…”

Holmes nodded and continued.  “Yes, I well understand.  Your father’s missing body and the inaccessibility of any form of proof of paternity…Yes, yes, yes, quite understandable.”

Traub wrinkled his brow and then turned to Holmes, not sure what to make of this whole mess that was unfolding before him.  “So, are you quite satisfied, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes shook his head.  “No, I do believe that there is still something that I am not being told.” Both Robesons turned to him to loudly protest.  Holmes put up both hands to silence them.  “However, whatever I do suspect is clearly not against the law, not governmental law, anyway.  Therefore, I am content to let the matter drop.”

Abigail said to him, still clearly upset, “I don’t understand.  Aside from a little untruth that was put forth to protect our family assets, we clearly have committed no crime, as you just said.  So why did you feel a need to even bring up our relationship in the first place?”

Holmes looked directly at her.  “My dear, I can assure you that the piece of conjecture that I am not revealing right now is considerably more embarrassing than that which I have just made known.  So I earnestly suggest that you prod me no further.  However, a moment ago I merely needed to do a simple exercise to get to know you both better.  I cannot work with deceit, or even what you might call ’white lies’, on any level whatsoever.  I need to know the whole truth about everything.  Do I make myself clear?”

Slowly, the Robesons nodded.  Holmes continued.  “Good.  Now, Inspector Traub, I recommend that you put ‘Mr. Bones’ here into storage for the time being.  We might need him later.  And do, please, take special care of the wig.”

Traub sighed.  “Yes, I’ll have my sergeant come here at once, after we have finished our interview.  Is there something else that we need to discuss?”

Holmes put his hands together in a triangle shape, then put his index fingers to his lips.  “Indeed.  Miss and Mister Robeson, I feel a need to speak to the doctor whose name appears on the death certificate--the doctor who came and affirmed the death of your unfortunate father.”    

Christian slowly nodded.  “Yes, I believe I know where he can be found.  There is a little gentleman’s club a few miles East from here, which is about a half hour’s ride from the estate, which we will visit later.  Dr. Rentuk Kalpenn; we all call him Dr. Kal for short, his full Indian name is impossible to pronounce.”

Holmes nodded.  “I am very much interested in meeting this Dr. Kal, as you call him."

Abigail lightly touched Holmes’ arm.  “And you are coming to dinner with us later at the estate.  The family has made special preparations for the both of you.”

Holmes tried not to laugh, and tried very hard not to exude sarcasm, but was not successful. “I don’t doubt that, Madam.  Tell me something, though, are the other members of the family anything like you and your charming brother here?”

Abigail smiled widely.  “Oh, yes.  We’re all like peas in a pod, actually.”

Holmes quickly nodded and gathered up his belongings.  “Then I will look forward very much to meeting them all.”  He turned to Traub.  “Inspector Traub, thank you so much for the use of your resources.  You will be hearing from us shortly.”  He then turned to Watson.  “Let’s go, Watson.  We shan’t disappoint the family!”

The Robesons and Holmes left quickly, bowing respectfully to the Inspector.  Traub and Watson shared a stare of utter confusion.  Holmes; voice echoed in the doorway.  “Shake a leg, Watson.  The hour grows late!” 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

The dart flew within a hair’s breath of Holmes’ head.  The men gathered around the young, long-haired East Indian man with a look of amazement.  They paid more attention to the destination of the dart than they did to its proximity to Holmes’ head.  Smoke permeated the room.  Several well-dressed old men with whisky-soaked breath gathered around the recreation area.  Waitresses with low-cut tops served the men, hoping that most would be too drunk to move their hands as quickly as their roving eyes. 

Watson shook his head and turned to Holmes.  “South Jersey Gentleman’s Club.  So much for this place.  Our clubs are far classier.  Don’t you agree, Holmes?”

Holmes paused before speaking, assessing fully the situation.  Christian and Abigail were ahead of them, congratulating the handsome East Indian man for the precision of his last shot.  Holmes turned to Watson to respond.  “Watson, throughout our work together you should have observed a certain constancy in human behavior.  The difference that you are referring to, old chap, is subtlety and conveyance.”

The East Indian man grabbed a tablecloth off one of the tables, without disturbing a single item, and twirled it in the air with a victory howl. 

Holmes continued, “…or lack thereof.”

Watson sighed.  “I believe that I see your point.”

Christian and Abigail pushed forward through the crowd, arm in arm with their young friend.  Christian spoke first.  “Dr. Rentuk Kalpenn, may I present Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and his friend, Dr. James Watson.”  They shook hands all around. 

Kalpenn ignored Holmes and struck up a conversation with Watson.  “Dr. Watson, I so much appreciated your article in the New England Journal of Medicine about the new science of Diagnostic Medicine.  Do you really believe that there is a future for the field to be taken seriously?”

Before Watson could respond, Holmes answered the question.  “Certainly, it does not take a bloody idiot to know that before you can treat a disease, you must properly diagnose its symptoms.  Stating the obvious, if you ask me.”

Kalpenn’s smile disappeared from his face.  He took a step toward Holmes and stared at him icily before addressing him.  “Good sir, the question was addressed to Dr. Watson.”

Christian intervened between them.  He addressed the East Indian doctor.  “Now Kal, I’m sure that Mr. Holmes here did not mean to question your field of expertise.  We’re all friends here.  Isn’t that right, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes snorted.  “It is what you make it to be, Mr. Robeson.”

Before anyone could respond, a belligerent-looking, fat old man with bug eyes pushed his way past the guests and approached Kalpenn.  He whipped out his wallet and handed him several rolls of hundred dollar bills.  “I don’t know how you did it.  I would say that you rigged the board, if you asked me.  Don’t know why we let your type in here in the first place.” 

Holmes stopped the old man with a tug in the arm.  “Good sir, you owe the young doctor here an apology.”

The old man, who had some level of respect for a Brit, sighed and said to the Indian.  “Sir, I do apologize for my comment about your race, which was way out of line.”

Kalpenn turned oddly to Holmes.  “Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes shook his head mildly.  “Dr. Kalpenn, I believe you misunderstood.  I was talking about the first portion of our elderly friend’s remarks about the board being rigged.  I was watching you play.  Although you made an earnest attempt, a true rigged board would not be so faulty as to be a centimeter off.”

Kalpenn faced Holmes directly.  “I’ll have you know that it was not physically possible to hit that target any closer.  Nobody had ever done so before.  Isn’t that true, Snodgrass?”  The old man, Snodgrass, just snorted and mumbled to himself.

Holmes remained unconvinced.  “Care to make a wager on that, Doctor Kalpenn?”

Kalpenn’s eyes widened.  “What exactly are you saying, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes paused to light his pipe.  “What I’m saying is that your disposition tells me that you probably would be averse to answering my questions without some form of coercion.”

Kalpenn laughed at him.  “Your point, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes wrinkled his brow.  “If I may be so bold, I wager that I could hit a dart closer to your target than where you hit.”

Kalpenn seemed intrigued. “What are the terms?”

Holmes laughed.  “If I fail, I’ll double the sum that Mr. Snodgrass has just paid you.  However, if I hit the target at the bull’s eye, like I said that I would, you will sit down with me and answer my questions truthfully and honestly.  Do we have a deal?”     

Kalpenn shook his head.  “You’re a fool, Holmes.”  He turned to the old man.  “Get the darts, Snodgrass.”  Snodgrass raised his brow.  He made his way through the crowed to fetch the five darts that Kalpenn left on the board. 

Within five minutes, all was set and ready to go.  A crowd of drunk old men gathered around the place where the contest would begin. 

Snodgrass handed the darts to Holmes.  Holmes examined them closely and handed four to Christian.  “Hold these for me, will you, old boy?”

Watson gave him a concerned stare.  “Holmes, you’re giving away four chances?  Whatever are you trying to prove?”

Snodgrass shook his head.  “Good sir, not only what you’re doing has never been done before, but to even reach the Indian’s place would realistically involve two or three tries.”

Holmes was not listening.  He was just studying the dart and comparing it to the distance that the dart would need to travel.  “Just utilitarian, gentlemen. Why be wasteful?  What cannot be done in four trials cannot be done in one.  It just takes one dart to reach the bulls’ eye. Simple logic.  Now please clear the area!”

Everybody gave Holmes a reasonable working space.  Holmes paused for just a second.  He pointed to the bulls’ eye in a perfect straight line path.  He pulled his arm back in an arc and spun the dart through the air.  The center of the bull’s eye was pierced, precisely and perfectly.  The crowd marveled. 

Kalpenn collapsed in a chair and was soon joined by Holmes. 

“Now Dr. Kalpenn, we have some talking to do, old boy!”

Kalpenn could do nothing but laugh.  “Mr. Holmes, you beat me fair and square.  In my culture, we have a saying that when translated equivocates to this: ’respect need not be granted, unless it’s earned.’  You, my friend, have done so many times over.  Kindly accept my apologies.”  He extended his hand to Holmes and the latter shook his hand. 

Kalpenn smiled.  “Drinks for all!”

Abigail clapped her hands.  “I could really use a tall one myself.  Triple vodka screwdriver, please.”

Kalpenn got up from the table and walked over to her.  “Abby, you know you’re allergic.  Remember… Your last exam? You really should order something else.”

Abigail looked down, paused and responded.  “You’re quite right, Kal.  I must have gotten caught up in the moment.  I really should go and sit in the parlor with the other ladies.  Management will soon complain if I don’t.  Would you gentlemen be so kind and pick me up later?”  She excused herself and walked away.

“That was odd.” Watson remarked. 

Christian seemed just as puzzled.  “I was unaware of Abigail’s allergies, nor was she ever so concerned about political correctness at this club.  We certainly paid enough money to this place for nobody to be overly concerned about a woman being here with us.”

Kalpenn turned to Christian.  “Chris, you need to trust me on this one.  Doctor to patient. Best interests. Confidentiality.”

Holmes observed, but said nothing.  There was an awkward moment of silence. Christian resumed subtlety. “Shall we order our drinks then and resume business?”

In another half hour, the conversation was more lively.  Watson and Kalpenn were talking about the medical issues involving the body and its’ demise.  Holmes was quiet for a long time, examining the sign-in and events logs of the club.  He also examined  a map of the area and one piece of data on the death certificate.  He tapped his fingers on the table as every thought was permanently burned into his memory.  Finally he put up his head and faced Kalpenn.  “Dr. Kalpenn, I notice your signature on the death certificate as well as the time of death and other information.”

Kalpenn turned and looked puzzled.  “Is there something that you need clarified, Mr. Holmes?  My mother had always criticized me about my handwriting back in the old country.”

Holmes nodded.  “Quite true, but still questionable.  Most people have handwriting clarity issues when they write quickly, such as taking notes in school, or in your case, filling out medical documents in a hurried manner.  Indeed, I can’t understand Watson’s handwriting on prescriptions that he issues to me.”

Watson jabbed Holmes playfully.  “There’s a reason for that, you know…such as the possibility that there may be certain things that I don’t want you to understand.  Some patients have the blatant audacity to attempt to copy a doctor’s signature so that they can, Heaven forbid, forge an order for their own narcotics.  Do you know anyone who would be shameless enough to try something like that, Holmes?”

Holmes sighed.  “I believe that we’re deviating here, my friends.  Dr. Kalpenn, as I was saying, there is some type of inconsistency about the death certificate.  The miscellaneous information such as name, address, date of birth and other associated items are printed extremely neatly.  However, the fields that label time of death and your signature and certification are hardly legible.  In fact, the type of inks that are used are slightly different.  Indicating different pens, perhaps. “

Kalpenn shrugged.  “My pen ran out of ink.  I needed to--er, use a different pen.  It’s a good thing that we carry spares.”  He opened his jacket and pointed to his pen holder, in which three pens were shown.

Christian laughed nervously. “Well, I’m so glad that we resolved that mystery.  Would that be all, Mr. Holmes?” 

Holmes wrinkled his brow and then turned to Kalpenn.  “Dr. Kalpenn, I notice that your club’s logs has you penciled in for the archery tournament on the date of  our victim’s death.  Now judging by the distance from the club here to the estate of the deceased and the time of the tournament, I am puzzled to understand how you got from here to there so quickly.”

Kalpenn laughed nervously.  “As soon as I heard about the tragedy, I made my way to the estate, which was soon after the tournament.  As luck would have it, the carriage was waiting for me outside and the traffic was good.”

Once again, Christian laughed nervously as well.  “Right then, I guess that explains everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes took a sip of his drink. “I cannot dispute the facts as you present them.  Everything is indeed possible the way that you propose. All is timed well and perfectly scheduled.  Perhaps too perfect, actually.  There is another theory that might be possible also.  If perhaps, someone or perhaps several someones, knew where and when our victim might die, the death certificate’s main specifics could be filled out in advance.   The time of death and doctor’s signature could be filled out as an…how do we say this…afterthought.”

Christian became defensive.  “What exactly are you inferring, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes nodded slowly.  “Nothing that could be proven…yet, Mr. Robeson.  Please calm yourself.”

Dr. Kalpenn twitched nervously.  “I have nothing to add to what I just said, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes still examined the documents in front of him.  “The evidence does not implicate impossibility, merely improbability.  For example, your trip from the club here to the estate; indeed, it would not be impossible, if someone, or several someones, would have known when and where the death would happen, the Robesons could possibly send their own chauffeur here to be waiting in the wings, so to speak, to pick up the good doctor and transport him to the estate.  Once again, not impossible, right?”

Kalpenn looked up at the detective.  “Mr. Holmes, I’m sure that your own Dr. Watson could attest to the variable factors which could be evident in our profession.  We need to be able to act at a moment’s notice.  Not everything can be quantified in terms of space and time…especially where human lives are concerned.”

Christian took another sip of his drink.  “Right then.  Are we through here, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes folded up his notes and put everything into his briefcase.  “For now, Mr. Robeson….For now.”

Dr. Kalpenn extended his hand.  “If I could be of further assistance, Chris could tell you where to find me.  He is quite aware of my movements, as it were.”

Christian once again laughed nervously.  “Right then.  Kal, it’s been a pleasure.”  He gave his friend a token embrace, which was not as warm as when they had first entered.  “Come, everyone.  Let us fetch Abigail and retire to the estate.”

Kalpenn shook Holmes’ hand, when he was out of hearing range of Christian and Watson.  “You’ll enjoy the estate, Mr. Holmes.  Try not to be creeped out by that annoying raven that’s perched near the guest room bed.”  There was no suggestion of laughter in his tone of voice this time. 

Holmes understood and nodded seriously, slowly comprehending.  “Quite.”  He bowed his head to the doctor and then headed to the parlor.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

The path to the staircase of the Robeson residence was well maintained.  A small garden was off to the side, with all kinds of seasonal exotic flowers.  Watson admired the beautiful October garden artistry.  He turned to Abigail.  “Do you do your own gardening, Miss Robeson?”

She blushed.  “Why- er- no, we have hired help.  His work is quite satisfactory.”

A beaming voice, with a very slight Spanish accent and a laugh came up behind them.  “Satisfactory? I am an _artiste_.  Not artist, mind you.  _Artiste_.  There is a difference, you know.”  The source of the voice was a thirty-something Hispanic male. He was about five feet tall, of medium build, with a slightly muscular curvature to his arms.  He wore a straw hat and overalls, which were smudged with dirt. 

Christian’s face reddened slightly.  “Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson, may I present our resident gardener, Johnny Alomar.”

Alomar extended his hand warmly to the guests, in a well-mannered gesture.  “Please, call me Alfie.  All of my friends do.  You two strike me as good folk, not like those little space aliens that abducted my master’s body.  I remember that night, you know.  Minute for minute, every detail.  Strange goings on here, Mr. Holmes, you know?”

Christian gave a nervous laugh.  “Strange indeed.  We really should be getting on.” 

Alfie did not let go of Holmes’ hand. “Yes, very strange.  Things were too normal, I tell you, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes stopped.  “Whatever do you mean too normal, Mr. Alomar, may I ask?”    

Christian tried to take Holmes by the forearm gently to get him away from the gardener.  Holmes put out his walking stick to indicate to Mr. Robeson that he wanted to speak further to Alfie. 

Alfie continued. “You know that people are expected to go all crazy when someone dies?”

Holmes nodded.  “Quite, such is to be expected.  But getting back to the space aliens you were talking about.  Are you saying that it was indeed such creatures who killed your master?”

Alfie shook his head impatiently. “Goodness, no!  They didn’t kill him.  They landed on the roof of the train and took away the body, after it was sent for transport.  That is the whole mystery after all, right?”

Watson shook his head puzzled.  “Holmes really, space aliens?”  He turned to Alfie.  “With all due respect, Mr. Alomar-” 

Holmes interrupted.  “With all due respect, Mr. Alomar, excuse the rudeness of my associate here.  Please do continue, but would you be so kind as to elaborate about your concern about the state of affairs being too normal on the night of your master’s passing?”

Alfie smiled and nodded his head.  “Yes, Mr. Holmes. Usually, everyone is all crazy when things don’t get done, you know, like little things.  Alfie-take out the garbage! Alfie, the grass needs cutting!  All yelling and screaming- stuff like that, you know?  However, the night of my master’s passing, it was nothing like that.  Everyone was like, so calm, you know?  Just didn’t make sense, you know?”

Christian laughed nervously.  “Yes, Alfie. I’m sure that those damned space aliens are running amuck right now as we speak.  Isn’t that right, Alfie?”

Alfie turned to Christian and faced him directly. “Mister Robeson, with all due respect, I ask you not to mock me, please?”  Christian gave him a threatening look. 

Abigail got between them.  “Gentlemen, please!  Let’s not fight over this.  We have had enough excitement for one day.” 

Alfie’s manner softened, more or less, when he saw Abigail standing between him and her brother.  “Miss Abigail, I must have forgotten myself.”  He bowed his head and kissed her hand. 

She giggled, as she lightly touched his cheek.  “You really should get some sleep, Alfie.  Those trees need mulching tomorrow morning.”

He smiled at her.  “Quite right, Miss Abigail.  Tomorrow, then.  Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson.”  He bowed politely and then started to leave. 

Holmes took his arm and turned him to face him.  “I would very much like to speak to you tomorrow, Mr. Alomar, at your earliest convenience.  You seem to be a rather pleasant gentleman.”

Alfie smiled widely.  “Quite so.  Looking forward to it.  Good night.”  He turned again to Abigail.  “Miss Abigail.”

Abigail blushed slightly.  “Good night, Alfie.”

Alfie turned and left.  The others watched until he was out of earshot.  Christian was the first to speak.  “Quite a pity,  you know.  He’s a little touched in the brain, as you could see.  My grandfather liked his work when he was a kid.  Couldn’t add one and one, but was great with the flowers and trees.  So he hired him.”

Abigail continued.  “And he’s been with us ever since.  A sweet man, almost like a member of the family, actually.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow.  “So, is he less a member of your family then your chauffeur, your grandfather’s nurse, or your deceased father’s female paramour, or her associate?”

Christian looked up, thoroughly puzzled.  “I don’t see where you’re going with this, Mr. Holmes.”

“On the train, Mr. Robeson went out of his way to describe all the people who were members of the family, even outlining those associated who were not family by blood--in great detail, may I add.  However, there was no mention of Mr. Alomar. May I ask why?”

Christian answered nervously. “Mr. Holmes, Alfie is the hired help, for goodness sakes!  He doesn’t even live in the house proper.  He has a room that was transformed in the garage.  And he’s not exactly operating on all cylinders upstairs, if you know what I mean.”

Holmes stood fixated.  “He does not live in the house proper.  Therefore, whatever happened on the night in question did not involve him, not directly anyway.  He has nothing to gain or lose by speaking freely.  I look forward very much to conversing with him tomorrow.”

Christian sighed.  “Right then, shall we go inside now?”   

********  

 

The doorbell rang with a resounding chime, which echoed inside and out.  Holmes could feel the vibration of the sound reverberate as he tried to light his pipe. His hand shook ever so slightly, which led to the annoying conclusion that the bell generated too much sound for too little space.  Watson massaged a spot on the side of his head, apparently in silent agreement.

Slowly, the hinges unlocked.  As the door opened, the person behind the locks emerged cautiously.  She was in her late twenties, long, brown hair, about five and a half feet tall.  Her composure bore a serious expression.  Her eyes focused on Christian. 

“It would be wise to tell us in advance if guests are expected.”  

Christian laughed broadly.  “Olivia, really, must you always be so much of a fuddy-duddy? Don’t you recognize our guest?  He’ s a world renowned detective, for goodness sakes!  Sherlock Holmes, this is Olivia Thornton, special Assistant to Calinda Ludden, the lady of the house.”

Olivia slowly turned aside, without a sound and allowed in Holmes and Watson, followed by Abigail and Christian.  She reluctantly held out her hands to collect Holmes and Watson’s hats.  “I hope that you don’t expect dinner.  Miss Ludden has already had her evening meal.”

As soon as Olivia left the room, Christian remarked, “Please excuse Miss Ludden’s little pet, Mr. Holmes.”

Watson nodded.  “She did seem rather preoccupied.  By the by, would you mind if I used the facilities?”

Abigail pointed to a nearby staircase.  “Upstairs and to your left.”  Watson bowed politely and then ascended the staircase.  At the top of the railing, he was once again on level ground.  So many doors.  It looked like a scene from one of Lewis Carroll’s books.  Every door was the same color, perfectly applied brown-stained wood, without a crack or any other type of wooden imperfection showing.

“May I help you, Sir?”  Watson didn’t notice the quiet footsteps of the young blond woman as she approached him.  He whirled about quickly to face her. 

She was shockingly beautiful.  Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders, without as much as a stray strand out of place.  She wore a white nurse’s uniform that fit her well, almost too well, actually, he noticed with a twinge of embarrassment.  The white cap on her head was perfectly angled and held down with a hair pin. 

Watson bowed to greet her.  “You must be the nurse. I’m quite sorry, I’m forgetting my manners.  I’m Dr. James Watson, Medical Assistant to Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

She laughed.  “Yes, indeed.  Miss Abigail told me to expect you.  I never knew that you were so good looking, though.”

He wrinkled his brow, puzzled.  “Excuse me?”

She shook her head.  “Well, I don’t suppose that you would recognize me, actually.  After all,  I didn’t enclose a photo when I wrote my letter to you upon your request for research for your article in the New England Journal of Medicine.”

Watson laughed.  “Victoria Amberling?”

She extended her hand toward him.  “The one and the same.”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair nervously.  “Heavens to Betsy! I’ve always envisioned brilliant research women such as yourself to be fat, old, retired medical specialists with thick-lensed glasses, no family and twenty-eight cats.  You caught me quite off guard, I’ll admit.”

She pointed a finger at him.  “As did you, Dr. Watson.  I thought that someone who had the brains to get published in the New England Journal of Medicine on his first try would be a boring, overweight Kraut with warts on his eyelids, thirty strands of thinning hair on top and thirty pounds too many on bottom.”

They both shared a laugh.  Victoria was the first to break the awkward moment of silence.  “I have an idea.  After we set up your old man with my old woman, maybe you and I could get together some time to talk.”

He nodded eagerly, trying to cross his legs to hide the pain in his lower extremities.  “I’m so sorry.  I quite forgot why I came up here for, actually.  I really need to use the loo.  Would you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?”

She pointed to the door on the left.  “Right over there.  Now don’t try any funny business, doctor.  I’ll be waiting for you  in the mini parlor right across the archway over there.”  She indicated with her fingers where the mini parlor was located.  “I’ll have coffee and cookies prepared for you, doctor. Please don’t keep me waiting.”

He smiled as he entered the bathroom.  He watched as she turned the corner.  _Victoria Amberling…_ he thought to himself.  After all these years.  He’d finally get a chance to question her about her research.  This trip might not be so bad after all.  He quickly relieved himself, and then noticed the small medicine cabinet over his head. 

It was open ever so slightly, as if someone was just in there.  Watson was unable to contain his curiosity, so he slowly and quietly pried the cabinet open all the way.  Medications were of the ‘over the counter’ variety and quite ordinary: shaving lotion, hand cream, aspirin, and other assorted over the counter items.  That is, all except one vial.  Watson examined the prescription label very carefully.  The doctor’s name was Rentuk Kalpenn, no doubt the young doctor who they had met earlier.  That was not unusual.  The prescribed medication on the label was Clonazapem, an anti-anxiety medication, still not unusual.  The patient that the medication was prescribed to was Luke Robeson, the retarded brother of the deceased,  Roland Robeson.  Nothing unusual there, since many people of Luke’s predisposition might need medication to deal with stress related issues.  Watson opened the vial to examine the pills.  At first glance, he immediately knew that something was wrong.  The medication indicated on the prescription label was clearly not the same as the medication in the vial.  The five pills in his hands, which were formerly contained in the vial, were of the same resemblance as placebo pills.  

Watson was almost sure that he was right.  He himself had written prescriptions for placebo medication for patients who had a psychological need for some type of pill, although there was nothing physically wrong with them. 

It was reasonable to assume that Dr. Kalpenn’s prescription was filled as ordered.  However, it was probably more likely that a family member had felt a need to tamper with the medication in some way.  More likely than not, it was someone who had some preliminary knowledge of medical protocol…

A voice from the outside knocked on the door.  “Are you okay in there, Dr. Watson?”

It was Victoria’s seemingly innocent voice that penetrated the closed door. 

Watson answered quickly, “Yes, I’ll be right out,” while he put one sample pill in a small plastic bag.  He needed to run a preliminary test on the pill to be certain.  Luckily, he had brought his med kit with him for anticipated use on such occasions.  

He put the plastic bag in his pocket carefully and then opened the bathroom door.  He gave a quick smile to Victoria.  “I beg your pardon, I just needed some time to find my way around the subtleties of an American Water Closet.”

Victoria laughed. “Come out of there, you silly Brit!  I swear, do all the men around here have to be so dog gone helpless?”

Watson nodded slowly, finding it hard to believe that the beautiful woman in front of him could be capable of such deceitfulness as what he had contemplated earlier. 

He gave some thought to his response.  “I miss the days when I could just amble about helplessly without a care in the world.  Things have changed so much.  Nothing is how it should be…”

Victoria looked into his eyes, trying to hide a tear in her eye, which she wiped off quickly with her sleeve.

They were both silent for a moment.  After an awkward pause, she spoke first.  “Oh, silly me! I meant to tell you that I could not--how can I put this in the context of this crazy family?--arrange--yes, arrange is the correct word--arrange  for the refreshments that I wanted us to share.  I just had a falling out with Princess Olivia.  She had just closed down the kitchen after serving  Her Majesty, the lady of the house.  You never met her, have you, James?  She’s a real bitch on wheels.  I’m sorry, I suppose we need to go downstairs to the living room to find Abigail.”

Watson wrinkled his brow.  “Abigail has special access to the kitchen?”

Victoria’s face reddened, in a moment of embarrassment.  “I--er--I mean she’s quite--er--resourceful.  She has, as of late, always been able to find a way to stow away some kind of food.  Let’s go.”

She took Watson by the hand.  He hesitated for a moment. 

“Victoria?”

She turned to face him.  “Yes?”

He paused and thought about what he wanted to ask her.  Many words came to mind, but he was unable to find the way to phrase what he wanted to say. 

He sighed.  “Nothing. Nothing at all, really.  Let’s go downstairs.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Meanwhile, back downstairs in the Robeson living room, Holmes found himself subjected to a fairly odd set of circumstances.  He and Abigail were sitting on the couch together, while Olivia and Christian were actively involved in some form of heated argument.

Abigail remained silent, while she sewed another piece of thread onto her flowered pattern macramé.  Her model, Holmes noticed, was a picture on a book page, which she held carefully on her lap. Holmes couldn’t help but admire the expert precision in which she copied the model, stitch for stitch, perfectly.

Christian paced the floor and threw his hands up in the air. “I really don’t understand your employer’s eccentricities at all! It’s not like I was asking Her Majesty for permission to open up the royal kitchen for us. I was just asking for a bloody drink for myself and my guest!  Is that too much to ask for, considering that my father owns the house and all?”

Holmes' eyebrows raised. He made a mental note of something to discuss with Watson later, but remained silent, contemplating.

Olivia eyes widened. She was ready for the challenge like a perched lioness, waiting for her prey. “First of all, Mr. Robeson, I’ll not have you refer to Miss Ludden as Her Majesty. She will be treated with respect, regardless of what I have to do to enforce her wishes.  Secondly, liquor is not to be consumed unless there is food to serve it with.  We are not commoners, after all.”

Christian still went after her. “One would think that you and Miss Ludden were, since both of you have no real place in our family anymore.”

Olivia walked directly up to young Robeson and stared him down, completely unintimidated by his height and muscular build. “If you had any respect for your father’s wishes upon his death, you would not have the unmitigated gall to insult his lady, who is also my lady as well.”

Christian laughed with an air of contempt. “She certainly isn’t my lady, that’s for sure!  I’m the man of the house now, Miss Olivia; a fact which I charge that you not forget. Without so much as a word from me, I could throw you and your lady out on your pompous, pretentious, petty and deceitful royal asses. You know I have that right!”

Olivia was unperturbed. “Listen, Skippy, I don’t know how they do things down under, but on our particular continent, the law works differently. Even Mr. Holmes could tell you about English common law and a woman’s property rights if she lives with a man long enough. So, guess what--”

Before she could finish, he pulled her hair violently. “First of all, you have no right to insult my Australian heritage! Secondly, your lady may have property rights, but you--”

He reeled backwards after she sharply elbowed his stomach. He let go of her hair and they both fell down, with her landing on top of him. He tried to get up, but she held his arms down. She was the first to speak. “If you wish to challenge my authority, Christian, I am available to you anywhere and anytime, for any activity in which you are prepared to engage. Do I make myself clear?”

He grunted. “Well then, I wasn’t in the mood for those bloody drinks anyway.”

She let him up and the two stared at each other for another moment. Wordlessly, Christian stormed out of the room.

Olivia made no attempt to either excuse or explain herself. She just made a roundabout comment about alerting her lady to the guests' presence. She soon was gone.

Holmes noticed that throughout that whole exchange, Abigail did not as much blush or raise her head. She went on with her sewing, as though nothing was happening.

Holmes looked at her curiously. “I gather that those two have somewhat of a bad history together.”

Abigail laughed. “It’s business as usual around here, you know. It’s always been that way, actually, considering his bad temper and her, er, disposition for preferring female companionship.”

Holmes nodded. “So that’s why she’s so protective of her lady. It is starting to make sense now. Tell me something. Does Miss Ludden return her feelings?”

Abigail sighed sadly. “Miss Ludden has done nothing to discourage her, but I don’t know if Miss Thornton’s affectations are truly appreciated by her, if you know what I mean, Mr. Holmes.” She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly to accentuate the last part of her comment.

Holmes shook his head sadly. “Regrettable. That woman is certainly driven by strong passion. If properly channeled, such power could be put into use for any end which she would hope to accomplish.”

Abigail nodded her head. “She is smart, but misguided. She does not know half the stuff that goes on around here, trust me on that one, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes seized the opportunity to follow up with a very delicate question. He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I suppose she doesn’t know that you are in the early stages of being in the family way, does she?”

Abigail’s eyes widened. Her voice changed, as a very slight hint of an Aussie accent became noticeable to Holmes. “I beg your bloody pardon, Mr. Holmes. I shan’t have you talk to me like that!”

Holmes shook his head and lowered his voice to a gentler pitch. “You must excuse me, Miss Abigail. I have been told that my social manners and polite subtleties leave a lot to be desired. My intention in broaching the matter is not to embarrass you in any way. I promise that whatever is said between you and I will not go beyond this room. You have my word.”

Abigail sighed. After a short pause, her voice resumed its normal pattern of intonation. “It is I who must apologize. I should not have thought that I could keep it secret much longer. In two or three months, there would really be no question as to my state. However, I do hope to be many miles away from here by that time.”

Holmes smiled. “Once again, I admit to being a social brute concerning such delicate women’s matters. As far as your ability to conceal your condition at this stage, to the eyes of your family, as well as to any social onlookers that you may encounter, you have nothing to worry about, my dear.  I am an oddball, an exception to the rule if you will.  I notice things that few others would even give a second thought to.  Your doctor’s reference to an allergy to alcohol for instance, although you poured a tiny sip of brandy from Dr. Watson’s glass into yours at the club.  Your predisposition to wear clothing one or two sizes too big for you.  Your over-accentuated posture to keep your body weight from shifting. The devil is in the details, Miss Abigail--little things that the average person would not give a moment’s thought to, I assure you.”

Abigail shed a tear from her eye. “I so much want this all to be over, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes moved closer to her. “I gather that you’re referring to the birth of your baby?”

She nodded with a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, among other things. Things which I cannot share with you--or else my brother would kill me.”

Holmes sighed. “Observing your brother’s behavior a moment ago, I would say your concerns are well founded. So, I gather that he does not know about the pregnancy.”

She shook her head vigorously. “The only person in the household who I’ve trusted to tell is Victoria Amberling.”

Holmes followed up on that fact. “Your grandfather’s nurse, who came here to take care of your retarded brother Luke, after the passing of your father Roland. Do I have the facts right?”

She wiped another tear from her eye. “Yes, Victoria has been my only true friend here. She has done so much to help me along with everything. And of course, she is sworn to secrecy.”

Holmes delicately prodded further. “And the baby’s father? Does he know?”

For once, Abigail openly laughed. “Mr. Holmes, with all that’s going on in this family right now, it’s for his protection that he doesn’t know, believe me!”

Holmes scratched his chin. “You mentioned concerns about your brother Christian. Do you believe that he would do something to hurt the father of your baby?”

Abigail sighed sadly. “You need to understand how my brother grew up. He did not have the advantages that I had. You see, my mother was Australian and my father was born here on the continent. My grandfather was against the marriage, but my father went through with it anyway. Grandfather banned father from moving into any of the family houses, so my father and mother married in the British settlement on the outskirts of Australia, near her home town. They lived there for two years.

“Then Christian was born. He grew up there and learned to talk abroad. Therefore, his accent is considerably pronounced. Sad to say, however, soon after my mother became pregnant with me, they started not to get on very well. So, it was decided that soon after my birth, they would split up. By that time, grandfather had died, so my father felt free to return to the colonies and to stay with a distant cousin of ours. He took me with him, while mother remained behind in Australia with Christian.

“Christian was well adjusted and happy as a little boy. He wrote letters to me about how he was planning on joining the seminary after finishing school. He was relatively a happy young man, until mother died. Then he felt abandoned. Mother had no living relatives, so Christian had no real choice but to come to the colonies here to live with us. By that time, he was fifteen years old. He was at that age where it is so dreadfully important to fit in. Sad to say, however, the other boys at school made fun of him mercilessly, because of his accent and his inability to fit into American culture. Kids can be so cruel, you know. He would frequently come home from school after being beaten up, with torn clothing and black eyes. The abuse continued until he fought back. And fight back he did, with a royal vengeance, don’t you know. He joined a gang and became a holy terror of a young man. He never forgot how he was mistreated because he was a foreigner. Therefore, he developed an unnatural hatred and intolerance to all foreigners. And--and--and--”  She could not continue, as her voice trailed off.

“I take it that the father of your baby is of foreign birth.”

She didn’t say a word but just looked up at him sadly. The book that she was using as a model fell from her lap. It fell on its side. He picked it up, turned it over and it opened to the first page, which he quickly read. She tried to grab the book from him, which he handed over to her slowly, making sure to close the book first.

There was a moment of silence. He was the first to speak. “Alfie.”

She lowered her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t intend for it to go this far. You see, when I came of age, I went to school at Oxford on a scholarship. I settled in England for a while and was looking forward to a promising career as an artist, who designed, painted and sewed different types of floral patterns and designs. My work was good, but I felt that I needed some new ideas to enhance my marketability. At that time, father wrote to me about the sad news of the passing of our distant cousin. Therefore, father inherited the property. He wanted to enhance the value of the real estate so he hired the same gardener that my grandfather had once employed. Father sent me pictures of the beautiful gardens that were planted by the very talented Johnny Alomar and I just had to come and see for myself. Needless to say, Alfie and I got along quite well. Too well, in fact, if you know what I mean. And so I found myself to be, pretty much, well, in the predicament that I am in right now.”

Holmes put his fingers together in deep thought. “And I suppose you never considered taking yourself and Alfie and getting the bloody hell away from here.”

Abigail sighed. “You have no idea of how many times I have tried to think of ways to make this all work. Places to go, where we would be accepted without ridicule. It all came down to the same thing, though, which was the issue of money. Aside from staying here, I could see no way of going anywhere in which we would be able to make some type of a living without being poked at and harassed mercilessly. I could take it. Alfie was well enough adjusted. But the baby…”

Holmes took up where she left off. “Yes, I understand. You did not want your baby to grow up to become like your brother. So I take it that you felt a need to break things off with Alfie, without telling him about the baby.”

She nodded sadly. “I could see no other way. Needless to say, he did not take it well. He withdrew into himself. His memory has sadly degenerated and he developed a type of mental impediment, in which he is now only a shadow of his former self. He trusts no one, believes in extra-terrestrials and has a limited concept of reality. The only evidence of his former happy life is the fine quality of his work.”

Holmes got up off of the couch, walked toward the window and looked outside at the beautiful garden. He could still see the young gardener as he was working tirelessly to adjust the position of a red rosebush. His concentration was focused and he was aware of nothing in the world besides his work. Holmes slowly turned away and then whirled around to face Abigail. “In great genius, there is oft-times, great madness.” He and Abigail shared a contemplative look.

Abigail got up and walked over to him. She was obviously crying. Holmes took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tear from her eye. She looked up at him, whispering, “There is a great deal that I need to tell you.”

Holmes nodded. “Quite. You needn’t be afraid. Doctor Watson and I will protect you.”

She took a breath before speaking. “Okay. You see, the truth is that--”

The door opened abruptly behind them and a lady in her mid-forties entered. She was wearing a blue, ankle-length riding dress and knee-high, black leather riding boots, clutching a riding whip in one hand. Beneath an outrageous blue bonnet, her hair was black, long and curly. She smiled as she walked into the room, followed by Olivia Thornton.

“Mister Holmes!” she yelled. “So very nice to meet you!” She ran up to him quickly, nearly pushing aside poor little Abigail, and gave him a big, affectionate hug. “I have heard so much about you. I am the lady of the house, Madame Calinda Ludden.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

She was no doubt a woman who conveyed a very commanding presence. Her eyes shone brightly as she greeted Holmes. Such was a sign that she was one who valued the concept of power. Although her position in the household at that moment was, at best, questionable, she would not convey the least sign of vulnerability. She carried herself as nothing less than ‘the lady of the house.’

Holmes noticed the near perfect mechanics of her actions, but chose to say nothing. Instead, he decided to just observe. She put out her hand to him and he took it in his, cautiously. “Miss Ludden, it is indeed a pleasure.”

He let go of her hand, but she held his arm clingingly.  “Your reputation proceeds you, Mr. Holmes. Please sit down and have a drink with me.”  She guided him over to the sofa. She then turned to Olivia. “Olivia, darling, would you be a dear and see what we have in the liquor cabinet? Come back at once, please.”

Olivia took a step closer to Calinda and bowed respectfully. “Right away, my lady. “ Holmes noticed that for the first time, her voice had contained a measure of warmth that was not visible when conversing with himself, Watson or any other of the family members. Odd…odd indeed. Further observation was definitely necessary.

A masculine voice laughed behind them, as Christian Robeson descended the staircase. “Oh, by order of the Queen, the liquor cabinet will now be opened for us unworthy peasants!”  He laughed bitterly as he continued to walk down the stairs. He settled behind Holmes, sitting on the couch, facing Calinda directly.

She stepped over to face her challenger. Obviously, she was a woman who backed down to no one. “Oh, come on, Christian, darling, you know better than to question the lady of the house.”  She pinched his cheek affectionately, a little too aggressively for his taste.  He grunted and took a seat besides Holmes.

Calinda smiled approvingly. “That’s better, dear. You see, being pleasant is so much less painful. Isn’t that true, my boy?’

Christian snorted. “I’m not your boy.”

Her eyes blazed as she peered directly at him, but only for a moment. Then she smiled again. Her smiled turned into a laugh. “My, my, my…all grown up, are we now?  Isn’t he a dashing young lad, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes sighed. “Yes, my limited encounters with Mr. Robeson have revealed his somewhat more daring side, to say the least.”

Christian did not have time to respond, but was distracted by the young couple that was descending the stairs. Nurse Victoria Amberling and Dr. James Watson were talking quietly to each other, as they approached the company downstairs.

Victoria was the first to speak. “And here’s the lady of the hour. James Watson, may I present Miss Calinda Ludden.”

He walked up to her and kissed her hand, in proper English fashion. “Charmed.”

Calinda laughed. She so much enjoyed being the center of attention. “Oh, look at this, there is actually one gentleman in the room.”

Holmes and Robeson shared disenchanted stares at the somewhat brazen attack on their manhood that they had just heard.

Watson continued. “Victoria, here, has been nice enough to tell me about how well adjusted you have become in light of your family’s most tragic loss.”

Calinda seemed to shift immediately to ‘drama-queen’ mode. Her eyes slanted to one side. Her footing became wobbly as though she was unsteady in her balance. Victoria left Watson and helped Calinda to her sofa. Holmes vacated his seat, so that Calinda could sit. He moved himself behind Watson, so that they could silently assess the situation and ’compare notes’ later. Such was a practice that the pair had used for many years, involving prior cases.

Calinda sighed. “I do seem to have forgotten myself. I suppose that sometimes denial takes the place of melancholy. Or perhaps I have learned to immerse myself all too well in my duties as hostess, in a somewhat feeble attempt to dull my profound grief.”

At that moment, Olivia emerged from the kitchen and seeing Calinda on the sofa, looking so pale, her eyes widened and she panicked. She ran over to Calinda and got on her knees to attend to her lady. “Madame Calinda! Are you all right?”

Calinda nodded weakly. “Yes, Olivia dear. Please attend to our guests.”

Olivia tentatively let go of her lady’s hand and nodded. “Yes, madam, in accordance with your request I opened the liquor cabinet. We are well stocked with brandy, vodka, red and white wines, as well as imported scotch. What will everybody have?”

Calinda spoke first. “A hint of scotch. Mister Holmes?”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “A tint of brandy, please.”

Watson sighed. “I could really use a glass of white wine.”

Victoria smiled slightly. “I think that I’ll join my friend, Dr. Watson. Make that two white wines.”

Holmes and Victoria glanced sideways at Abigail, in a gesture of warning. Abigail caught the subtlety of the glances. “A spot of tea, please.”

All eyes were now focused on Christian. He seemed to be enjoying the attention. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble, I would like a very large triple vodka screwdriver--with one part orange juice and two parts vodka, with six semi-circular limes all cut to exact specification, alongside of a soda spritzer, made from exactly two ounces of ginger ale, mixed with a quarter of a teaspoon of rum, prepared by shaking, not stirring, please. When finished, would you be so kind as to serve the whole shebang in a wooden mug? That is of course, if it’s not too much trouble, Miss Olivia.”

Olivia turned an icy stare to Christian. “On the contrary, I very much look forward to serving you all, especially you, Mr. Robeson.”

Olivia left and the group stared at Christian for a moment. “Bloody hell. One never does know when the liquor cabinet will be opened again, now do we?” He directed his stare to Calinda, who smiled at him uncomfortably.

She was quick to change the subject. “I fear that my family has not been the same since the unfortunate incident. I felt a need to impose certain rules and restrictions so that we keep ourselves clearheaded and focused, especially now in these grievous times.”

Holmes took up the note of conversation to ask some uncomfortable questions. “Just so. My consolations to you all. As you probably know by this time, I was summoned by Mr. Christian and Miss Abigail to ascertain the facts about the death of Mr. Roland Robeson. I’ve heard the facts as presented by our two young friends here. Miss Ludden, I would like to hear your version of what happened on that tragic night. Are you composed enough to discuss the matter right now?”

Calinda took a deliberate pause before speaking. Holmes observed that even when playing the part of a grieving lover, her actions were perfectly calculated and timed to a science…curious indeed. “It just happened last week, actually. You know, Mr. Holmes, he wasn’t even really sick. He went to bed one night and then just--well, he just never woke up.”

There was a banging sound from upstairs. It was the sound of a person banging against a piece of wood very vigorously.

“Whatever might that be?” Holmes asked, curiously.

Victoria got up and walked to the staircase, excusing herself. “That must be Luke. I didn’t expect him to wake up for another couple of hours, at least. He seemed rather agitated as of late.” Watson exchanged a meaningful look with Holmes. Holmes knew that somehow events were jarred to provoke a private conversation between the two friends later.

As Victoria walked upstairs, Holmes wrinkled his brow as he changed the topic of conversation. “Luke is the retarded brother of the deceased, am I right to understand?”

Calinda continued. “Yes, very much so. He is probably affected more than all of us by the loss of our dear Roland.”

Victoria emerged gradually down the stairs. She was escorting a man of middle age with sandy blond hair. His hair was in a state of disarray. He was wearing a dirty bathrobe and slippers. He was unshaven and had a goatee which seemed to be a little more grown out than the rest of his beard.

Victoria spoke soothingly to him. “Luke, everything is okay. Please calm down. We’re all among friends here. Let me introduce to you our new friends, Sherlock Holmes and James Watson.”

The timid man shakily reached out his hand to Holmes and then to Watson. “Hello,” he said shyly. He then sat down next to Victoria.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Victoria spoke slowly and soothingly to the man beside her, then turned and spoke to the family. “He just wouldn’t calm down. I don’t know why he is so nervous. In the past five days, he just can’t calm down. I thought that bringing him down here with the family would help to soothe him a little bit. It’s not like him at all, even considering the tragedy and what happened after…” Her voice trailed off.

Holmes turned to Watson, who he knew would be more subtle about medical and psychological-related illness. He whispered something to his friend, who nodded. Watson turned to the family. “Mister Holmes is concerned with upsetting the older Mr. Robeson here.”

Victoria shook her head. “Oh no, certainly not. He only responds by being spoken to directly. You could even mention his name when you’re around him and he would not understand. So please feel free to talk about whatever needs to be discussed.”

Calinda continued. “Poor dear! Mr. Holmes, my heart breaks every time that I see him like this, you know. Well, to continue, what I was saying; upon the passing of my beloved, we immediately summoned our good friend and family physician, Dr. Kal. He examined the patient, wrote out the death certificate and confirmed the patient’s death.”

Holmes got up, took his pipe out of his pocket and lit it. “Tell me something, Miss Ludden, was an autopsy done?”

She seemed to be completely prepared for the question, not the least bit perturbed by any means. “Why, no. Roland specified in his will that he did not want an autopsy to be done. He wanted his body to be buried whole. He specifically requested that he be buried in the family plot on the other side of the pond, as you call it. Our dear boy Christian and his wife Abigail--”

Abigail cut her off. “Calinda, we don’t have to lie to Mr. Holmes. He knows that we’re brother and sister. He figured it out on his own.”

Calinda was visibly caught off guard for the first time. “Oh my! I quite underestimated you, Mr. Holmes. I would like to really get inside your head sometime.”

Holmes impatiently changed the topic back to the facts. “Miss Ludden, intrigued as you are, could we please focus on the facts? You were discussing Roland’s preference to be buried on English soil in your family plot.”

Calinda regained her composure quickly and continued. “Ah, yes. As I was saying, Abigail and Christian were just so, at that time, tending to some of our family interests abroad. They were staying at our grandfather’s British estate, when the tragedy happened. So they were prepared to receive the body and prepare it for proper Christian burial. Afterwards, myself and the rest of the family would make the trip East and attend the funeral. That was the plan, anyway. The problem is that somewhere along the way, the body got lost. We paid an associate of the town coroner to accompany the casket for the full duration of the trip, from the coach to the train to the ship. He was a man of good reputation and honor. He saw to it that the body was packed away according to specification. He saw to its labeling, conveyance and shipping. However, when the casket arrived at the port of Her Majesty’s boatyard, it was empty. There was no body. The inside of the casket was weighted down with bricks and heavy lumber. “

Holmes scratched his head curiously. “Habeous Corpus.”

Abigail sighed. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes laughed. “Sorry, I’m getting quite ahead of myself. It is an expression which, when interpreted from the Latin vernacular, literally means: ‘Where is the body?’ You see, the Mother Country’s formal judicial practice regrettably did not have the provision for a speedy trial. So, some people passed away from this existence before their trial date came up on the calendar. Hence, the validity of my little dalliance into Latin.”

An awkward laugh came on to the lips of all in the room, with the exception of Luke, who was just starring off into space.

Calinda nodded her head. “I’m glad that we could somehow find some humor in our sorrows. Mister Holmes, Dr. Watson, it is getting late now. After Olivia brings the drinks, why don’t we all retire for the night. Abigail can show you to the guest room, where there are two well arranged, comfortable, big warm beds, just waiting for you. You can continue your investigation in the morning.”

Watson yawned. “Yes, I’m quite looking forward to a good night’s rest.”

Olivia came in with the drinks. She carried a big tray and served everyone carefully, starting with Christian. “I do hope that I served you well, Mr. Christian.”

He observed the set-up carefully. “Why, thank you, Olivia. You’re not bloody well halfway bad a woman, once you know your place.”

Olivia stood off to the side and served the others. They all drank in silence, as Olivia continued to watch from the door leading into the dining room.

Christian continued, now with an air of confidence. “My father always taught me that a woman needs to know her place. They need to be told exactly--” Christian’s face turned purple as he spat out the sip of his drink that he had just gulped down. He quickly got up and the glassware in his lap came tumbling down to the floor. He immediately turned to Olivia. “Damn you, woman! What did you put into this drink?”

Olivia looked at him with a sheepish grin. “Oh, my. I should have informed you of the fact that we had just ran out of orange juice. So I thought that I’d substitute prune juice instead. I’m so sorry if such offended you, sir.”

He doubled over, and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You--you…. Excuse me, I feel the need to visit the loo right now.” He ran out of the room holding his stomach.

Everybody in the room laughed hysterically. Luke was the first to crack a smile. Holmes noticed, curiously, but said nothing.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

 


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. James Watson sat down on his bed and was strangely contemplating a pill, which he turned around in his hand.

Holmes was looking out the window and enjoying the view. “Strange, Watson. I don’t see a bird in the sky tonight. Our good doctor friend warned against the presence of a certain raven keeping us up late at night.”

Watson got up and walked over to his friend. He passed a set of bookcases with old volumes of books from many classic authors: Shakespeare, Poe and Whitman amongst many others. The floor was not carpeted. Extremely well polished wooden boards were used to cover the floor.  The beds were soft and comfortable. Every item from ceiling to floor was immaculately clean.  Watson hardly noticed those little things as he made his way to the window to confer with his friend.

“Is that all that you can think about, Holmes?  The absence of a certain obscure bird.  You never focus on the here and now, damn you, man!  Were you listening to a single word that I was saying?”

Holmes sighed and turned back to reassure his friend. He recited and paraphrased in a redundant tone of voice, “You were saying that you’re experiencing a twinge of guilt about a possible breech of medical ethics. According to the contents of a certain doctor’s periodical, written 15 years ago, a certain doctor’s license was suspended by invading the privacy of a colleague’s patient. For the sake of argument, the doctor was named Smith, the colleague named Winslow and the patient named Jones. Winslow died and Smith took over his practice and therefore took it upon himself to handle all of his associate’s medical responsibilities.

“An examination of the records of patient Jones caused Smith to observe an abnormality which would ordinarily preclude the prescription of Winslow’s steroid-based medication. Smith, having a sound basis for medical concern, tried to contact the patient to warn him about the medication, but was unsuccessful in doing so. Telegrams and phone calls proved to be of no avail. Therefore Smith, assuming the worst, broke into the patient’s home and found Jones lying on the floor in a coma.

“Smith revived the patient, saved his life, but was still suspended from practicing for a month. The board’s concern was that Smith had no written permission by the patient to take over Jones’ medical care in any capacity. That and the legal ramifications of breaking and entering led to the suspension. And you’re suffering a pang of conscience due to an open medicine cabinet, a pill which you believe to be suspect, and your good initiative and judgment in removing one pill from the vial for purpose of testing. See, Watson, I do listen to you! Now where’s that damned bird?”

Watson threw his hands up in the air and yelled out loud. “I’m speaking to a lunatic here! Why do I even ask your opinion? Everything that you say and do is tainted by your twisted sense of justice at all costs! You’re reckless and insane, with no concern for consequences. You know something? You’re corrupting me! I could see it happening. But I won’t give in, I swear. I’m going back to the loo right now and I’m putting back that pill. Hopefully, nobody will have realized that it was stolen.”

Watson got up to leave, but was lightly restrained by Holmes, who put his arm on his shoulder. “Stay a minute, old boy. Let’s talk about this.”

Watson looked at him angrily. “Only if you close the window and stop giving half your attention to looking for an invisible bird.”

Holmes nodded. “Done.” He closed the window and sat on the bed beside Watson. “Now, let’s analyze this problem. Granted, I do not have your medical training, of course. However, this is more a question of judgment and whether the ends justify the means. You do not hate me as much as you’re scared of the thought of developing a set of ethics that even remotely touch on the beliefs of your Dr. Smith. You’re afraid to explore unknown territory and to do anything out of the ordinary. Factor into the equation a pretty blond nurse, who may be a viable suspect, and you have an insurmountable quandary in which there seems to be no solution.”

Watson got up and paced. “Medical ethics involve a slippery slope of allowances and legalities, and the delicate balance in-between. However, you do possess somewhat more of a common knowledge of such issues. Perhaps you should have considered a career in medicine. Regardless, as far as your second accusation is concerned, I am not a pre-conditioned lap dog at the beck and call of every pretty woman. I just have a feeling about this one. I really don’t believe that she could be involved in such a ghastly affair. It’s just a feeling, you know.”

Holmes laughed. “Whatever you say, old boy.”

Watson faced him angrily. “You’re telling me that you have the nerve to say that you’re completely immune to the charms of a beautiful woman. Two words for you, Holmes--Irene Adler. As in ‘the one that got away.’ You do remember, old chap, you kept me up endless nights after that one--playing that out of tune violin to the same old melody, while you were halfway out of your mind on cocaine or alcohol or both. You nearly grieved yourself into a bloody coma! Well, if you do that again, you won’t have to worry about your seven percent solution killing you. Hell, I’ll do the bloody deed myself before you put me through that bloody hell again!”

Holmes nodded his head, unmoved. “You must really have it bad for Nurse Amberling.”

Watson banged his head against the wall. “This man is going to drive me crazy someday! It’s going to happen very soon. The nice young men in the white coats will be coming for me. That’s it--I’m out of here. I’m going back to London. I don’t know why I even bother to accompany you on these missions of yours. I have a life, you know.”

Watson headed for the door. Holmes blocked the entrance. “Watson, if you feel so strongly about your beliefs, then prove me wrong. Prove to me that your medical judgment and logic are not clouded by your personal feelings. In the meantime, old boy, we are dealing with some very dangerous people; I’m almost sure that we have already met at least one of them. There has to be some type of family connection here. I just can’t put my finger on it. Your input may very well be invaluable in finding that missing link. I need your help, old boy.”

Watson threw his hands up in the air and slowly walked back toward the bed. “The type of placebo that I am familiar with, and which resembles the pill that I’ve appropriated from the medicine cabinet, would yield a positive result to my iodine solution test. It would turn a bluish purple when applied to the pill, thus confirming the theory that it’s indeed a placebo. I’ll set up my med kit on the dresser and we’ll proceed.”

Watson rummaged through his luggage wordlessly while Holmes resumed his quest for the strange bird. He quietly looked out the window, but said nothing. He sighed softly and then turned toward Watson, after the med lab was set up. “Watson?”

Watson turned around. “Oh, what is it?”

Holmes looked down and said two words with great difficulty. “Thank you.”

Watson shook his head. “Don’t talk to me. Leave me alone! Let me work on this. It has to be just perfect.” Carefully, Watson put a drop of iodine on the pill and observed the results. Holmes watched the expression on his face and did not have to ask him whether the results were positive.

He joined Holmes at the window and the two spent five minutes in silence.

Holmes was the first to speak. “I’m sorry, old chap. You know, of course, that the presence of a placebo in a misplaced medical vial does not necessarily prove guilt on the part of Nurse Amberling.”

Watson sighed. “Let’s just keep watching for that bird of yours.”

There was a knock on the door. Holmes took the initiative and walked to the door. “Hello, who is it?”

A deep-toned male voice shouted from the other side of the door. “Mr. Holmes? I’m the master coachman. May I have a word with you?”

Holmes opened the door. Watson watched curiously. The man on the other side of the door was a dark-skinned African American. He was bald and had a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a riding man’s outfit, gray and black. He was a little shorter than Holmes, but slightly taller than Watson. He bowed respectfully to Holmes, hesitating to enter the room until invited.

“Oh, please come in. Where are my manners?”

He entered, but his manner was tense. He put his riding boots together and his arms wrapped around his back, as he spoke. “My name is Franklin Ericsohn. As I said, I’m the Master Coachman for the good family Robeson. My employer, Madame Calinda Ludden, has asked me to come to you to ask if you would be in need of my services tomorrow morning. She has ordered me to make myself fully available for your travel needs. I need to arrange my schedule accordingly. Will you be needing my services?”

Holmes looked at him carefully. “Quite so. Thank you, Ericsohn. Doctor Watson and myself would like to pay a visit to the freight yards tomorrow at around noon, if such is convenient for you.”

Holmes noticed that the coachman had tensed, ever so slightly. “Yes sir, that would be fine. Thank you.” He turned to leave. Holmes put a light hand on his shoulder.

“Just a moment, Mr. Ericsohn.”

The coachman turned around. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

Holmes paced around and looked at him carefully. “I was just looking at your boots. I couldn’t help but notice the spot of wax on the tip of one of your well-polished boots. May I be so bold as to ask about the source? I admit to having a sore distraction for triviality, but if you could possibly remember, it would do a lot to humor a crazed Englishman.”

Ericsohn scratched his head. “I’ve just been around to different places, Mr. Holmes. Madame has me plodding about all over the town. My boots absorb all types of substances as I go through the day’s work. Regretfully, however, I have no recollection as to the source of that spot of wax. I am sorry if it disturbs you, sir. The next time that we meet, my boots will be clean for your inspection and satisfaction. You have my word on that, sir.”

Holmes nodded. “Quite so, Mr. Ericsohn. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening.”

Ericsohn bowed and left, oddly with an air of self-consciousness that he did not possess a moment ago. After the coachman had left, Holmes turned to Watson. “What do you think, Watson?”

Watson sighed. “Holmes, I have to say that this time, your perceptions are somewhat bizarre. I think that you’re overreaching this time. Really, Holmes, a piece of wax on a pair of boots? Hardly relevant.”

Holmes lit his pipe. “Watson, remember this: There is nothing that we see, hear or feel in this life that is not relevant.”


	9. Chapter 9

Two hours later, Watson snored away as Holmes tossed and turned.  Holmes could not sleep.  There were just too many missing pieces that didn’t connect.  He went outside to the terrace and lit his pipe.  Alfie was still in the garden, hard at work.  Holmes admired the young man’s relentless work ethic.  He watched attentively.  Just as the last embers of Holmes’ pipe were going to extinguish, his sharp ears heard the sound of approaching footsteps coming in Alfie’s direction.  Holmes continued watching, but said nothing. 

Franklin Ericsohn appeared in the garden, wearing a slightly shabby tweed suit.  He was not wearing his boots, but wore rubber-soled walking shoes instead.  Alfie continued working as Ericsohn approached.  “Good evening, Alfie.  Kind of late to be up working, no?”

Alfie looked up and grunted.  “Good evening, Franklin.  Kind of late to be up walking about, no?” 

Ericsohn looked annoyingly at the young gardener. “You know, Alfie, someday that smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.  You had better watch your step.”

Alfie laughed.  “Really, Franklin?  All these years that we’ve worked together, you haven’t said two words to me.  Now all of a sudden, you’re trying to be my friend? Odd, indeed.”

Ericsohn shook his head.  “You fool!  You don’t understand, we’re not safe.  Don’t you see?  Especially us.  You’re here by the good graces of being a favorite of young Robeson’s grandfather.  I’m here because of being highly recommended by a certain rich benefactor.”

Alfie was not impressed.  He sighed.  “Listen, Franklin, we could talk tomorrow.  I have to finish my--”

Ericsohn leaned down and grabbed Alfie by the shoulders. “Listen, man!  You don’t understand what you’re up against!  You can talk about space aliens and keep up the act, but I see what you’re about.  You’re  just working for the man, the same as me.  But we could both go down and it can happen quicker than you can clip a blade of grass. That English detective is making me nervous.  I spoke to him for less than five minutes and he analyzed me to high hell.  He knows stuff that could hurt both of us, so just keep your big mouth shut and lay low for awhile.”

Alfie shook his head.  “I have nothing to hide, Franklin.  Besides, nothing that I tell him will affect you.”

Ericsohn paced nervously, stomping on Alfie’s newly planted patch of grass.  Alfie pushed him away angrily.  “Hey, man, what exactly is your problem?”

Ericsohn laughed.  “Now that I have your attention, you will listen to me!  Listen and listen good, my little space alien.  As our family goes, so do we.  Both of us have done things that are somewhat suspect, in one way or another.  If it’s over for them, it’s over for us.  If I go down because of anything that you say, I’m taking you down with me.” 

Alfie remained unimpressed.  “I do not live for this job, Franklin.  My talents will be in demand somewhere else.  I’m not worried.”

Ericsohn moved a step closer to Alfie.  “So, what about Miss Abigail’s talents, hmm?  I’m sure that her brother especially will be certainly interested in all of her secret recreational activiti-”

He did not have a chance to finish his sentence.  Alfie knocked him down and pinned him to the grass.  “You will not speak of anything pertaining to Miss Abigail to that shameless, ignorant barbarian Christian Robeson, do you understand me, Franklin?!”

Ericsohn just laughed.  “So the stoic ‘King of Azaleas’ has a thorn in his side, I see?”

Alfie didn’t answer, but landed a punch square to Ericsohn’s jaw.  Ericsohn responded in kind and the two men tussled in the grass, wrestling and hitting each other. 

Holmes still watched curiously, but did nothing. 

A moment later a feminine voice yelled out.  Apparently Holmes was not the only one who was watching them. “Stop it!!” Olivia’s voice yelled authoritatively. 

The two men untangled themselves and stared in surprise, as Olivia materialized.  She was wearing a long, white night gown and shiny, black patent leather slippers to protect her bare feet from dirt and grass stains.  The men picked themselves up and dusted themselves off.  Neither man said anything.  They stood up straight, obviously afraid of the young woman. 

She paced around and looked up at them, shaking her head, in a gesture of shamefulness.  “You two, both of you, should be ashamed of yourselves.  If  Madam saw this horrible decadence on display, she would punish you both.  I have a good mind to tell her, you know.”

Both men stiffened. 

Ericsohn broke his pose.  “He started it, Miss Olivia.  We were just talking, right?  Then Mr. Space Alien here went ape on me and punched me out.  I swear I didn’t see it coming.”

Olivia took her attention off of Ericsohn and concentrated solely on Alfie.  “Alfie, I’m surprised at you.  Do you have anything to say?”  
   
Alfie remained silent.  Olivia still looked at him, with concern.  She turned to Ericsohn.  “Franklin, go to your room, please.”

Ericsohn looked at her, still worried.  “But Miss Olivia, you have to understand--”

Olivia walked up to him and stared at him face to face.  “Franklin, I will not repeat myself.  Go to your room now!”

Ericsohn sighed.  “Yes, Ma’am.  Have a nice evening.”  He bowed to her and walked away.

Holmes still watched attentively. 

Alfie remained standing still.  Olivia circled around him, shaking her head.  “I know that you know better than this.  Still, I’m happy to see something resembling pure emotion coming from you.  I must say that I’m impressed.  In a different context, perhaps, I might even be amused.  But now--”  Her voice trailed off. 

Alfie still remained standing still.  Olivia paced around him some more, like an animal eyeing its’ prey.  She sighed and scratched his chin. “Come with me, Alfie.”  Without a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her arm in his and led him away. 

Holmes’ eyes widened.  Something needed to be done and it had to be done soon. 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

The South Jersey area was somewhat residential, but not completely. There was a small portion of unfortunates who resided nearby; some slept in buildings, some in discarded packing crates. Those were the lucky ones. The others had to knock on doors to beg for food. Even the more unfortunate had to do so while bearing a physical handicap…or presumably so.

The tall tramp wore a torn pair of pants, old, worn out shoes and gloves with worn out fingers.  His clothing smelled of yesterday’s old stew and unwashed sweat.  He wore a battered top hat, which looked as though it was twenty years old.  His face was painted with black tar and soot, no doubt the residue of past jobs that were extremely messy.  The black tar and soot covered his face so thickly that it was impossible to ascertain any of his physical features.  He walked with a limp as he approached the staircase.  With great difficulty, he hefted himself up and rang the doorbell.

The light went on in the foyer. The door slowly opened. The lovely figure of Olivia Thornton stood on the other side of the door. She looked at the visitor disapprovingly and just shook her head. “Is there some kind of ‘Welcome Home’ sign here for all the homeless people?  Goodness, we have enough problems tonight.  State your business and be done with it!”

The hobo made signs with his hands, pointing to his mouth and stomach.  He made shivering gestures as he hugged his own shoulders.  Olivia just became more frustrated. “Oh wonderful, a deaf-mute hobo begging for food.  Just what we need tonight.  Come in and join the circus.”

She opened the door.  He came in and she blocked the doorway.  She gestured toward his feet.  “Take off your shoes.  My employer had me wax the floors this afternoon.  Oh, and one more thing, my grubby friend, if you make a mess or break anything, you will not live to see tomorrow.  Do we understand each other?”

He took off his shoes and nodded to her.  He followed her into the parlor, where Christian, Abigail and Calinda were sitting.  Christian was the first to speak.  “Oh, and what new breed of creature did the good lady Olivia have the generosity to invite into our home?”

The hobo was scared by Christian’s roughly-mannered speech and he cowered away toward Abigail, who was sitting on the sofa.  He gestured toward her and she smiled back at him. Abigail told Christian, “He’s a deaf-mute. He just needed to get out of the cold and find a hot meal.”

Calinda shook her head. “He’s harmless enough.  Can’t understand a word we say.  Let’s just feed him, give him one of Christian’s old sweaters and send him on his way.  Abigail, make yourself useful and get some food from the kitchen for our new friend here.”  Abigail bowed respectfully and left the room to go to the kitchen.

Christian stood up.  “My old sweaters?  Why raid my closet?  Let’s just break into Alfie’s room and get one of his suits.  Of course, we could have just asked him if certain people didn’t insist on tying him up and locking him in the basement.”  He gave a sidelong glance to Calinda.

Calinda sighed. “We did what we had to do. If you question my judgment one more time, darling, you’ll be joining him, you know.”

Christian shook his head. “Calinda, the guy talks about space aliens, for goodness sakes!  We’ll make more of a fuss by keeping him tied up and sending him away, then if we just ignore whatever he says as pure craziness.  Everyone else does.”

Calinda got up and paced.  “To quote Shakespeare, darling, there is method in his madness.  He worries me.  Someday, there will be someone out there who will listen to him.  He sees things.  He knows things.  We have to send him away.”

Christian got up and scratched his head.  He made a threatening gesture toward the bum, who just cowered in the corner, before he turned to face Olivia.  “It was at your suggestion that we use Kal’s name to get him into Junefield Psychiatric.”

Olivia looked up at him. “I had to.  Our benefactor’s good name would not have been enough to get him admitted.  We needed the medical reference.”

Christian’s face reddened.  “Without telling him?!  Liv, you know how Kal is.  He would never let that go.  He’s not like us.  Besides, at this point, we can’t afford to burn bridges with him.”

Olivia got up to face him directly.  “Why is it any of your concern?  One doctor is as good as another, for our purposes anyway.”

Christian ran his fingers through his hair.  “Liv, you may have lost your ability to feel, but at some point, you know, we need to cut our losses.  This has already gotten too messy.“

Calinda stood up and got between them. “Quiet, you two! I’m the boss here and what I say goes.  We will go according to plan.  Tomorrow morning, while I send Abigail out on an errand, Dr. Ritter will come to the house to do an initial examination and then supervise the transportation of the patient to Junefield.  Our little kewpie doll is not to know anything about this.  That is my way of cutting our losses.  Do I make myself clear?”

Olivia and Christian nodded silently.  Just at that moment, Abigail came out of the kitchen with a tray, holding a bowl full of hot soup, a cup of cocoa and half a roll of baked bread.  She deposited the tray on the floor in front of the hobo in the corner, who nodded thankfully.  Abigail sat down next to him on a footstool and helped him set up to eat. “So, what did I miss?” she said to nobody in particular.

The three family members were caught off guard, but Christian took the initiative.  “I was just telling Lady Foosy Poosy here that she has no qualms about opening the food cabinet for a smelly old bum, but does nothing to care for the needs of her poor, hungry stepson.  Oh, the irony of it all!”  He paraded himself around the room in mock dramatic fashion.

Olivia took up where he left off.  “For the simple reason that he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be!” she said teasingly. The ladies laughed.  The bum choked on his piece of bread.  Abigail tended to the bum and helped him avoid choking. 

Christian’s face reddened.  “That’s right, ladies. Laugh it up. When this is all over, we’ll see who will be left out in the cold.”

Calinda once again got up and stood between them. “Children, if you stop fighting and just listen to me, we’ll all have more than enough of what we’ve ever wanted.  Trust me.”

Olivia and Christian nodded slowly.  Abigail was helping the bum finish his meal.  “He’s about ready to leave.”  She got up, reached into the closet and pulled out a handsome blue serge jacket.  “Christian, you needn’t bother reaching into your own treasure trove of undersized clothing.  We were going to donate Papa’s clothing to charity anyway.  Our friend here will make good use of it.”

Christian, Olivia and Calinda seemed to all hesitate, but said nothing.  Abigail wrapped the jacket around the hobo and reassuringly walked him to the door.  He shook her hand in gratitude, slipped his shoes back on and the door closed behind him.

He limped out onto the sidewalk and turned a corner.  His limp had improved significantly when he was out of view of the house.  He looked around himself to make sure that nobody was watching.  He then took out a pipe from under his raggedy sweater, lit it and smoked in contemplation.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“This is a little too much for me, Holmes. You climb in the back window at the bloody crack of dawn, you smell like a rotten kettle of fish and you look like death warmed over. You scared me half to death when I opened my eyes and saw you in all your bloody glory!”  Watson shook his head and looked tired.

Holmes just laughed.  He had not slept that past night, but did not appear one bit tired.  “It was all worth the trouble, Watson.  I found out: A) That Ericsohn and the rest of the ‘royal family’ downstairs have something serious to hide.  B) Alfie , Abigail and Kalpenn are most likely innocent pawns in whatever the others are brewing.  C) Mention has been made of a mysterious benefactor who is most likely the brains and the finance behind whatever is going on.  Judging by the cheap quality of this jacket that was given to me as charity, I would say that this family is indeed heavily subsidized.  And finally, D) Alfie is not as mad as he lets on.  Calinda fears him greatly and has had him committed to Junefield Psychiatric, under the questionable care of a Dr. Ritter. We will pay a discreet visit to the facility when we finish our business at the rail station.”

Watson shook his head sarcastically.  “I can hardly wait.  Er, Holmes, I know that circumstances were awkward and all, but was there any mention at all made about Victoria--I mean, Nurse Amberling?”

Holmes sighed.  “I wish that there was, old chap.  But alas, the lack of her presence was not a cause of concern for the family.”

Watson paced impatiently.  “Which tells us nothing.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow.  “I’m sorry, old chap.  I have to tell you that she is still a viable suspect.  If she is innocent of whatever is going on, I will work to clear her good name. If not, then justice will prevail.”

Watson sighed.  “You talk as if justice at all costs is more important than any human element.  I sometimes wonder about your sense of values.  How can you live like this?”

Holmes walked over to the window, paused and then started to speak thoughtfully.  “As a doctor, how would you feel if a patient presented symptoms that you could not diagnose?”

Watson spoke without hesitation.  “I would keep on working until I found a logical connection to something which I could diagnose.”

Holmes took a step closer to Watson.  “Tell me something, then.  If your emotions were conflicted, regarding a path of treatment, would you choose logic and coldhearted facts to save your patient’s life?”

Watson considered the question and then answered slowly.  “Yes, it is my job to do so.”

Holmes smiled at Watson.  “I believe that you have just answered your own question.”

Watson was still unconvinced.  “But Holmes, would not your definition of true justice entail notifying Inspector Traub and telling him about Mr. Alomar being held against his will, tied up in the basement?  His life might be at risk, you know.”

Holmes got up and paced around the room.  “I actually considered your line of reasoning, old chap, as I was smoking my pipe soon after leaving the residence.  I came up with two counterarguments, however.  Number 1: At the risk of sounding brutish, chances are that if it were their intent to kill him, they would have done so already.  Number 2: If we shut them down at this point in time, whoever else is behind this operation will just pull out and scrap the mission.  So, we will never find out what is really going on.”

Watson sighed.  “So, you’re quite sure that Alfie will be safe then?”

Holmes slowly nodded.  “They went through a great deal of trouble to secure him a place in Junefield.  Chances are he would be safer there than he would be in the position that he’s in right now.  Therefore, the best course of action would be to let the bloody thing play out.”

Watson paused, to fully comprehend.  “Your reasoning is, as usual, irreprehensible.  So what do we do now?’

Holmes laughed. “To breakfast, old chap. The Robesons are expecting us.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

To the perspective of those who did not know differently, it would appear that the Robesons were just another Nineteenth Century incarnation of the perfect family.  The lady of the house, Miss Calinda Ludden, sat at the head of the table.  She was tightly corseted beneath her red dress with black, high leather boots, suitable for riding.  Her curly, black hair was well coiffed, in the latest highswept style.

To her right, there was a chair reserved, no doubt for Olivia, who at the moment wasted no time in tending to her lady.  Olivia wore a comfortable white apron, which covered a long, black dress.  She wore black, high button shoes.  Her long, straight brown hair was tied into a neat ponytail.  She carefully poured a cup of coffee for her lady.

Next to Olivia’s chair sat young Abigail Robeson, who wore a loose-fitting, pink knitted sweater vest over a white blouse and a gray herringbone skirt.  Her blondish brown hair was a little bit out of place, but partially combed.  However, her sensible black shoes were well polished.

Christian sat next to Abigail.  His grey tweed suit was well-tailored for him.  He wore his long, blond hair loose, but slicked back with pomade.  His black shoes were also well polished.  He was reading the morning’s periodical as he cut his stack of pancakes.

Next to Christian sat Victoria.  She wore a sensible black dress beneath a white nurse’s apron, along with a matching white nurse’s cap.  Her long, blond hair was tied up into a knot at the nape of her neck.  She also wore sensible brown shoes with crepe soles.  She turned to look at Luke, who sat besides her.  Luke was fairly well composed, but his clothing was disordered; his shirt wasn’t tucked into his pants and his vest was only half-buttoned, his hair was messy and he was shaking ever so slightly, as he tried to pour the syrup over his waffles with his outstretched left hand.

It was at that moment that Holmes and Watson entered.

“Good morning, everyone!” Holmes said cheerfully.  Holmes wore his usual black suit with comfortable walking shoes.  His counterpart, Watson, was dressed more like a gentleman.  He wore a gray, pinstriped suit and tie.  His black shoes were well polished.

Everyone at the table mumbled a cheerful good morning, with the exception of Victoria, who was trying to tend to Luke. Luke’s left hand was shaking all the more since Holmes’ arrival.  “Let me help with that, Luke.  Put your hand down.  I’ll take it from here.”  Tenderly, she helped him with his breakfast preparations.  “Remember what I told you, you pour from your left and reach from your right.”

Luke smiled broadly, but mumbled shyly. “Thanks, Miss Victoria.”

Holmes observed, without saying anything.  Olivia re-entered from the kitchen, but did not even acknowledge Holmes and Watson.  She just turned toward them, with a general stare.  “You can sit anywhere you see an empty seat,” she announced, “except for the chair near Madam Calinda.  That is reserved for me.”

Holmes smiled mockingly. “And a hearty good morning to you, Miss Olivia.”

Olivia just grunted and said, once again to them both, addressing neither directly, “If you want something to eat, sit down and serve yourselves.  The kitchen closes in a half hour.”

Holmes and Watson sat down at the two seats next to Luke.  They observed the beautiful breakfast that was displayed before them: pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, muffins, toasted bread and orange marmalade.

Watson smiled.  “My compliments to the chef.  Indeed, this is a meal fit for a king.”

Victoria smiled at Watson.  “Actually, Dr. Watson, the Robesons have a full kitchen staff at their disposal, you know.  Oh, by the way, please pardon my preoccupation with Luke when you first came in.  I am sorry for not being more attentive to politeness.”

Watson sighed.  For a moment, he did not know how to respond. “Miss Victoria, you need not apologize.  However, some time when Mr. Holmes and I return from our errands, I would very much like to speak with you.”

She smiled at him innocently.  “The pleasure is mine, Dr. Watson.”

Calinda was the next to speak. “Oh yes, Mr. Holmes.  Franklin did tell me that you would be in need of his services to transport you to the freight yard.  So, when you are ready to leave, he assured me that he would be ready to accommodate your needs.”

Holmes poured himself a cup of coffee.  “I am much in your debt, Madam Calinda.  Dr. Watson and I will proceed as soon as we finish this lovely breakfast, that was so graciously prepared by your ministrations.”

Calinda blushed. “You flatter me, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes observed Luke’s body shaking slightly.  “Indeed, judging by Master Luke’s behavior at the moment, I could deduce with probable certainty that such a meal is not within your family’s regular procedure.”

Victoria turned toward Luke. “Oh, dear!  I really don’t know why he’s like this.  Usually the medication helps to calm him down.”

Watson responded as if on cue.  “How long has he been like this?”

Victoria wrinkled her brow.  “Only for the past few days, actually.”

Watson took a deep breath, paused and then spoke.  “Has there been a change in his medication, perhaps?”

Victoria hesitated before responding, reaching up to adjust her nurse’s cap.  “N-N-Not that I’m aware of, Dr. Watson.  Dr. Kalpenn has been examining him on a regular basis and writing the prescriptions accordingly.  His medication at this time is Clonazepem, prescribed to control Luke’s symptoms of acute anxiety.”

Watson didn’t say anything, but only looked at Holmes, who silently tried to comfort his friend.

Christian responded angrily, burrowing through the stocks and bonds sections of his paper.  “Considering all the money invested in American pharmaceutical companies, by this time we should have found a bloody cure for every ailment under the sun.”

Watson sadly responded to Christian’s rant.  “Mr. Robeson, I’m afraid that the science of medicine does not work like that.  Time, research, testing are factors that--”

Christian cut him off abruptly.  “Are factors that can be expedited by the investment of more money.  Money is power, Dr. Watson; power over anything and everything that the world will ever need or want.”

Holmes looked up, fascinated by the topic of conversation.  “So, taking your reasoning to the extreme, Mr. Robeson, if you accumulated all the world’s money compounded and invested it properly, at some point in time, you would be able to have power over such trivial things as life and death, since, after all, that is one thing that falls into the category of things that the world needs and wants.”

Christian looked down.  His expression was extremely different when he looked up.  “I- I was raised in a small Australian village, Mr. Holmes.  My father was a man of certain means, but such meant nothing when he decided to leave my mother.  He lost whatever he had, when he married her.  So when he left, she and his only son were penniless and completely broke.  Mum and I were happy together for a good many years, though.  She worked small jobs to keep us going.  That is, until she got sick.  She died three weeks after.  Why did she die, you may wonder?”

Abigail got up to comfort him.  She walked over to him and put her arm around him.  “You needn’t discuss the matter, if it’s too painful, you know.”

He gave her a stern look.  “You of all people should not have any say in this matter.  Father took you with him and by the time you came of age, he had already came into his fortune.  You do not even remember our mother!  So sit yourself down, if you know what is good for you!”  She quickly walked back to her seat, trying to conceal a tear in her eye.

Victoria got up and tried to intervene.  “Listen, this topic is getting a little too heated right now.  We don’t want to upset Luke.”

Calinda gave her an icy stare.  “At the risk of upsetting those at the table who are not of stable mind, there are some things that need to be said.  Please go on, Christian. Answer Mr. Holmes’ question.”

Christian got up and paced around.  He turned around and continued where he had left off before.  “As I was saying, my mother died three weeks after she got sick.  However, her death could have been prevented, she could have been cured, damn it, if-if only we had the money to buy her the medicine that would have made her well.  So to answer your question, Mr. Holmes, the answer is yes.  Enough money could make the difference between life and death.”

At that point, Luke broke down and wept.  He muttered some nonsensical babble.  Victoria put her arm around him to comfort him.  Calinda looked concerned. “Victoria, I think it best that you take Luke back upstairs to his room.  You were right.  I did not realize that he would react so adversely.”

Victoria gently motioned for Luke to get up.  “Quite,” she said, giving the lady of the house a stare that could melt ice.  She helped him up and escorted him upstairs.

Abigail got up as well.  “Madame, may I be excused as well?  I do not feel very well right now.”

Calinda nodded.  “Go, Abigail.  I do hope that you recover in time for your morning errands.”

Abigail bowed politely and then walked away from the table to her room upstairs.

Holmes and Watson looked to Calinda for some type of explanation.  She sighed regretfully.  “Luke and Roland were quite close.  He misses his brother very much.  Indeed, although Luke’s capacities are limited, he can still feel profound sadness when given cause.  As far as Abigail is concerned, as of late, she seems to have no stomach for controversy. “

Watson showed concern.  “Perhaps I could examine her later, if you allow me to.”

Calinda responded abruptly.  “Not necessary!  What I mean is--Dr. Watson, please excuse my abruptness, but she’s been having these episodes for the past week or so.  But after an hour or so, she’s fine.”

Watson opened his mouth to say something, but Holmes gently shook his head, as if to prevent him from responding.  Watson took the hint and just took another sip of coffee.

Holmes looked up and nodded.  “Quite understandable.  Think nothing of it, Madam Calinda.”

There was a moment of silence.  Calinda was quick to change the subject.  “On a somewhat related note, our good friend Alfie would like to convey his apologies to you for not being able to speak with you today.  He had somewhat of a panic attack last night and is not quite up for company.”

Holmes sipped his coffee once again slowly.  “Once again, think nothing of it, Madam Calinda.”

The family, whose presence in the room was now diminished from five to two, ate in silence with the two guests for the duration of the meal.  Holmes was the first to finish.  “My compliments, Madam Calinda.  As much as I do not wish to display poor manners, Dr. Watson and I are on a schedule.”

Calinda smiled, no doubt a gesture of relief from the awkwardness at the breakfast table.  “Think nothing of it.  Christian, darling, would you come with me to summon Franklin?”  The young Aussie man got up and nodded to the guests and left the room with Calinda.

Holmes and Watson were now alone.  Watson was the first to speak.  “So, I gather that Abigail is--”

Holmes nodded slowly.  “Quite.”

Watson looked at him intently.  “And the father?”

Holmes sighed.  “I am sworn to secrecy on that one, old chap.  She’ll need to take you into her confidence and tell you herself.”

Watson pushed his chair closer to Holmes.  “Who else knows?”

Holmes spoke, barely above a whisper.  “Dr. Kalpenn and Nurse Amberling.”

Watson nodded slowly.  “Yes, it feels right.  Such would explain a great deal of the secrecy that is going on around here.”

Holmes laughed.  “Watson, my dear boy, you have not even touched the surface.  That little display at the breakfast table opened a whole new box of nasty comings and goings that need to be explored. ”

Holmes and Watson rose from the table and went into the parlor, where Watson sat down on the easy chair, as Holmes paced around and lit his pipe.  Watson turned toward his friend.  “So, has your opinion about Victoria been altered in any way by this morning’s events?”

Holmes paced some more and then stopped in front of Watson.  “Indeed, my friend, I must say that as of now, her involvement in this whole bloody affair is probably one of the key factors in solving this mystery."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The ride to the freight yards was filled with long intervals of silence.  Neither Holmes nor Watson felt like discussing the case within hearing range of the suspicious coachman, so they made small talk about the American weather.

Ericsohn drove his horses quickly to get to their destination.  The horses obeyed attentively, as Ericsohn reigned them in at perfect precision at the freight yards entrance.  He quickly dismounted his perch, stepped to the side of the carriage and then opened the side door for the passengers in the back seat.  “Here we are, Mr. Holmes.  I hope that your ride was smooth and efficient. I aim to please.”

Holmes nodded.  “Quite so, Mr. Ericsohn.”  He got out of the carriage and Watson followed, without saying a word.

Ericsohn stayed by the coach to make sure that they got off safely.  Holmes stopped in mid-step, turned around and faced Ericsohn directly.  “Tell me something, Mr. Ericsohn. On the date of your employer’s death, was it under your capable hands that his body got transported here?”

Ericsohn scratched his head, pretending to think, but clearly uncomfortable.  “I-I think if I remember correctly, Mr. Holmes, I was off on that day, as well as the day after.  But I could vouch for my staff.  Anyone who works under my supervision would be just as efficient as myself.  I would not approve the hiring of a man if his performance standards proved otherwise.”

Holmes nodded approvingly.  “I don’t doubt that, Mr. Ericsohn.  You are a model of expediency and efficiency.  Tell me something.  You seem to know your way around the rails of the freight yards quite well.  I have no doubt that if I or my associate here have tried to navigate this area by ourselves, both of us would be twisting in the wind in big bloody circles.  Indulge an Englishman’s curiosity, if you please, Mr. Ericsohn.  Before coming into Mr. Robeson’s employ, have you ever worked in the freight yards?”

Ericsohn’s balance shifted from one foot to another.  “I have held several past jobs, actually.  Where I am needed is where I go.  However, sometime within the realm of my past travels, I do believe I have had some experience with working within the freight and rail system here.”

Holmes nodded.  “So, we are all the more lucky to have such an experienced escort as our guide.”  He laughed approvingly.  Ericsohn laughed as well, in a gesture to ease the tension.  Watson just shook his head, trying to understand the vein of conversation.

After an awkward moment of silence, Ericsohn was the first to speak, as the three walked toward the entrance to the freight master’s office.  “I trust that you need me to wait for you as you go about your business.”

Watson was about to say that he would appreciate the service, but a stern look from Holmes implored his silence.  “I’d rather not impose on your good nature, Mr. Ericsohn. Indeed, Dr. Watson and myself would like to take the opportunity to do some sight seeing in this beautiful colony of yours.”

Watson grunted, but Holmes jabbed his elbow into his ribs to silence him.  Holmes continued to speak.  “Indeed, we would not wish to impose on your generosity and time.  We will see to our own transportation, Mr. Ericsohn. We thank you heartily.”

Ericsohn shook his head.  “But Mr. Holmes, with all due respect, my employer wanted me to set aside the entire afternoon for your transportation needs. “

Watson cut in.  “Holmes, really--”

A harder jab to the ribs silenced Watson once again.  Holmes spoke up.  “Indeed, Mr. Ericsohn, your concern and attention to detail is commendable, but my gentlemanly endeavors forbear me from taking advantage, where such is not necessary.  Therefore, please convey our regards to your lady, and for your own comfort, you may tell her on my behalf that I will bear the brunt of any consequences for deviation in her agenda.  Please tell her that we will be returning to the estate on our own, in time for dinner. Convey our thanks for her concerns, good lad.”

After a moment of silence, Ericsohn bowed respectfully.  “As you wish, sir."

He slowly walked away, turning around once or twice to watch Holmes and Watson.  Holmes gestured toward a bench just outside of the entrance of the freight master’s office. They both sat down; Holmes did not speak until Ericsohn’s carriage was well beyond the range of sight or hearing.  Holmes lit his pipe, while Watson stared out into space. Holmes paused and was the first to start speaking.  “I gather that you have some questions for me.”

Watson laughed bitterly.  “My friend, what I have to say to you is not in the form of a question.  It’s a confirmation of something that I have known for a very long time.  You are stark raving mad!  You believe that there is actually something here for us to write home about?  You bloody well want to go sight-seeing HERE?  This is the dustbowl of the colonial sector, Holmes, the forgotten stepchild between New York and Connecticut.  Furthermore, if there is any good to be found in New Jersey, it certainly isn’t here!  The place reeks of train exhaust fumes, burnt coal and sweat.  Even the people who are forced to work here, if they have a molecule of gray matter in their brains, would want to get away from this dusty, godforsaken place as soon their work day ends.  Most of which, may I tell you, do not have the luxury of a horse driven carriage waiting for them!  You actually turned down a ride back to the estate, for the opportunity to just hover aimlessly about?  I really don’t know what to bloody make of this!”

Holmes laughed.  “Watson, trust me! The point of my little touch of deception is to instill an element of privacy in what we must do when we finish our investigation here.”

Watson’s face reddened.  “And what might that be, exactly?  Research the floor wax facility that we passed one mile back along the way, so that you can check out the source of that spot on Ericsohn’s boot?”

Holmes actually rubbed his beard in contemplation.

Watson sighed. “Oh, dear!  Why did I open my big mouth?”

Holmes laughed.  “Actually not, Watson.  But you are on the right track, old boy.  Pardon the pun, considering where we are.  However, such is apropos.  The wax on Ericsohn’s boot is not of the same type and consistency as what is used in any floor wax product.  The processing is different.  However, I have a feeling that our research here would put us in the correct vein within that setting anyway.  You’ll have to trust me on that one, old boy.  However, to answer your question, we need to take a slight detour to Junefield Psychiatric to speak to our good friend Alfie.  By the time that we finish our business here, Alfie would probably have been admitted and hopefully be ready to receive visitors.”

Watson shook his head and mumbled.  “I know of someone who I would like to have admitted to Junefield Psychiatric, but certainly not ready to receive any type of sane visitor.”

Holmes laughed sarcastically.  “Your attempt at humor is noted, but unwarranted, old chap.  Come, let us go and conduct our business here. The hour grows short.”

**********

The freight master shook his head disapprovingly.  He sat behind the desk of a tiny office at the end of a hall, facing a wall.  The tiny office was surrounded by all types of noise, coming from different directions; people coming and going, speaking in different languages, orders barked out and responded to, sometimes none too pleasantly.

Lorne Johnson only closed the door behind him when he wanted to speak.  He did not care much whether his visitors were comfortable or not, whether they had to speak above all types of annoyances.  He let out a yawn and fingered his newspaper sports column with the utmost of indifference, until Holmes just happened to mention the name of Roland Robeson.  The tall, middle aged man’s white hair seemed to stand up on end.  He quickly unfolded two chairs from the corner and gestured for his guests to sit down.  He then discreetly closed the door.

Unlike the rest of his employees, he carried himself with a type of self-important dignity.  He spoke with the remains of a New England accent.  His hair was perfectly combed, his shoes well polished. He wore an official New Jersey Multi-Transit uniform, which was spotless.  After closing the door, however, he just paced around without sitting down. “Gentlemen,” he began with a deeply intoned voice, “I am truly sorry for  whatever happened.  Our freight system has been reputed nationwide.  I’m sure that whatever suit that you need to file on behalf of your clients could be quietly settled, right? We need not make this affair public, spending years dragging through the courts.  You seem to be gentlemen of importance-who could be spending your time AND MONEY in a more pleasurable setting, right?  Throw a number at me and we’ll work from there!”

Holmes scratched his beard. “Mr. Johnson, I may not have made myself clear.  Dr. Watson and I are not lawyers.  We are private investigators, hired by the Robesons to find out whatever happened to the unfortunate package that was shipped out last week to the Mother Country.”

Johnson relaxed and then sat down.  His attitude returned to its usual air of self importance.  “So, you’re not lawyers and you’re not looking to sue The New Jersey Multi-Transit System.  So, why exactly are you here then?”

Holmes sighed.  “I simply am looking for the truth, sir.  The shipping receipts indicate that the package was shipped and inspected by one of your representatives, who traveled with the package and watched the entrance attentively at all stops.  However, the contents of said package had disappeared when it reached its destination.”

Johnson waved his hands in a gesture of impatience.  “Listen, all I know is that I’ve done everything according to procedure.  As I said before, this is the first time that such an embarrassing incident has ever occurred in the one hundred year history of New Jersey Multi-Transit.  I have more to lose than either of you or your clients, but I have nothing to tell you.”  He slumped into his chair, feeling powerless, helpless, and for the first time, silent.

Holmes nodded his head and processed the situation.  “I’m inclined to believe you, Mr. Johnson.  You are not the type of man who would stand disgrace with any affectation of tolerance.  However, our answers may come from the testimony of the young man who you hired to travel with the package.  Would you be so kind as to summon him, please?”

Johnson laughed.  “Summon him yourself, mister!  After the incident, I demoted the incompetent dolt to Station Maintenance Janitor.  He’s assigned to cleaning the tracks on platform A.  Go out the door and make a left turn, a right, another left, walk forty feet, go downstairs, walk into the tunnel and you’ll find the pathetic wretch in the welding section.  Don’t take too much of his time, mind you.  I pay him to work, not to run his mouth.  Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me--”

Holmes and Watson got up, turned to leave, and then Holmes whirled around and said, “Just one more thing, Mr. Johnson--”

Johnson whirled on him. “I told you that I cannot answer any of your questions.  Unlike you and your partner, I have serious work that needs to be done.  Whatever else could you ask me for that could get you away from here faster?”

Watson and Holmes exchanged an amused glance.  Holmes made a gesture for Watson to speak, since Holmes obviously did not feel like belaboring the obvious.

Watson cleared his throat.  “If you would be so kind, Mr. Johnson, we need the name of the young man who we are to see.”

Johnson’s face reddened.  He spoke through clenched teeth.  “His name is Big George.  When you meet him, you’ll know why.”  He snickered bitterly.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, if you don’t mind--”

Watson bowed and walked backwards towards the door, following Holmes who had already left.  “Big George. Thank you very much, sir.  Have a good day.”

Johnson just grunted as he resumed reading his newspaper, as though nothing had happened.

Holmes turned to Watson. “Watson, I had never met such an arrogant, self-important, pretentious ass.  How could anybody work for such a man?”

Watson did not answer the question.  He just laughed. 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The New Jersey Multi Transit System was run by dedicated people, who mostly enjoyed posing for photographs and going out to expensive business lunches.  That was the happy face that was put on for the public.  Their offices were located in a Secaucus suburb, just a ‘stone’s throw’ away from New York City.  However, few people saw the ‘blood and guts’ of the system.  Indeed, few people had ever visited the South Jersey Plainsboro freight yards and fewer people were ever admitted to the ‘catacombs,’ as it was called by those who worked there.  Such was the place where station cars were repaired, tunnels were inspected and maintained, and every other unpleasant sort of manual labor was performed.  Watson coughed, near the point of choking.  Holmes lightly tapped him on the shoulder as they were walking through the dimly lit tunnel.  “Keep a stiff upper lip, old boy.  Remember we’re British, built of sterner stuff than anything that these petty colonists could put us through.”  

Watson caught his breath.  “I have lived on this earth for thirty-six years, not knowing that places like this even existed.  Somehow I do not feel deprived.”  He shooed off a large rat, who had the audacity to breech his comfort zone.  

Holmes scratched his beard. “You know, Watson, maybe someday somebody would do a study comparing the breeding conditions of New Jersey rodents to those across the pond.  The results would surely be fascinating.  What do you think, old boy?”

 Watson coughed once again.  “I think that I should have my head examined for coming here with you, when I should be back at the estate interrogating suspects.”

Holmes put on a mockingly serious smile. “Quite. Especially one in particular, I’m sure.”  

Watson shook his head. “Holmes, you yourself said that she was a viable suspect.”

Holmes sighed.  “Plenty of time for that later.  Come, let’s see to our interview with Mr. George.”  They passed several welders, hard at work, sweat pouring out from their pores. Their blue, raggedy uniforms were wrinkled and torn.  A group of them were standing in the largest section of the big workshop, crowded around a round, bald figure of a man. He was giving instructions to the others.  The man was completely obese.  He wore an oversized uniform, most likely custom-made.  His over-extended belly protruded from the circle.  Holmes and Watson thought him to be a supervisor.  Therefore, he would most likely be the best source to ascertain the whereabouts of the person who they needed to speak to.  They watched as he spoke to the others and waited their turn to address him privately.  Face to face, the heavyset gentleman, of indeterminable age looked like a misshapen Buddha statue.  He paced slowly as he spoke, waving one hand in demonstrative gesture.  The other hand was tucked away in his large overall pocket.  “Gentleman, the new machines work fastest when put on the second setting.  Our goals are to maximize efficiency, with as little wear and tear as possible.  I could attest to the consequences of the latter.”  The bald man laughed, followed by the laughter of the other workers.  “So, take care of yourselves, get the quota and I’ll deal with Johnson.  Don’t worry.  Now get back to work.”  The workers dispersed.  The strange man watched them, but did not move himself.  He stared attentively at the two visitors.  “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

 Holmes and Watson bowed respectively.  Holmes held out his right hand.  The other man returned the gesture with his left.  “Sherlock Holmes, Doctor James Watson, private investigators hired by the Robeson family.”  

The odd man’s easy-going expression turned grim.  “Perhaps we should go into the lunchroom, on the side, where we could talk privately.  I have another ten minutes left on my break.”  They followed him, in silent observation.  His left hand swung back and forth, but his right hand did not move at all.  Curious…  They arrived at the lunch room, a dimly lit hole in the wall, with an icebox, a table and a chair.  The obese man turned toward the visitors.  “I wish that I was able to offer you gentlemen something, but preparations are sparse around here, to say the least.  We have day old mystery meat in the fridge, along with two types of juices--brown juice and green juice.”  

Watson put his hand on his stomach, his face turning a pale shade of green.  Holmes, however, was bold enough to inquire further.  “And what might the difference be, may I ask?”

The odd man laughed. “Four weeks and two days.”

Watson elbowed his friend. “You just had to ask.”

Holmes continued.  “Thank you, I think that we’ll pass. To get to the point of our visit, your Mr. Johnson had directed us to speak to one of your workers, a Mr. Big George.”  

The fat man paused before speaking.  When he spoke, he faced them directly and spoke slowly. “You are speaking to him. I am he. How may I help you?”

 Holmes looked taken aback.  “Your initiative and machine expertise surprise me, sir.  You certainly do not fit Mr. Johnson’s description.”

George grunted.  “I’m sure that there was a great deal that our good freight master did not tell you about me.”  He quickly took his right hand out of his overall pocket, revealing a stump with a prosthetic hook attached.  Holmes and Watson were both silent, neither knowing what to say.  George continued.  He laughed before speaking.  “I usually provoke that reaction from people, the first time that they meet me.  Don’t worry, I am not offended.  The accident happened five years ago, when I was working on a defective machine. I wanted to sue, but my lawyers had the nerve to blame the accident on my tendency to be somewhat overweight.  So they urged me to settle.  The Powers That Be did not want the case made public, so they offered me a job in which I could work in a somewhat higher title and grade of pay, looking over the freight cars without having to do any physical labor.  I was then named Senior Freight Inspector, one step below Johnson, actually.  I was in the job for four years, supervising the shipment of packages all around the country. I saw to it that all packages arrived intact from one destination to another.  That is, until the affair with the Robeson package.”  The obese man put his hooked arm back in his pocket and turned away from the visitors.  “And the rest is history.”

 Watson looked at the man in front of him. “I am quite sorry for your disability, sir.”

Holmes paced the room up and down, trying to frame a question and finally reached a point of ground that he was comfortable with.  “Indeed, quite unfortunate, Mr. George.“ Holmes looked closer at the heavyset man in front of him.  He remembered seeing something that interested him.  “Mr. George, if you’ll be so kind, would you allow me to inspect your prosthesis for just a moment?  Something that I might have seen sparked my curiosity.”

“Have at it.”  George put his hook on the table.  A small spot of wax was on the tip of his hook.  

Holmes took out his magnifying glass.  “A small spot of wax, indeed.”

George sighed.  “Yeah, I was cleaning my shoes the other day.  Find it hard to bend down, after all, considering my tendency to be slightly overweight and all.  Here, let me show you.“  He tried to put his foot up on the table, but lost his balance, fell backwards and rolled a few feet away from the table.  

Watson quickly ran over to him.  “Are you okay, Mr. George?”

George just laughed.  “No need to worry.  Plenty of padding, Dr. Watson.  Well, I suppose that if you want to examine my shoes, you would never have a better opportunity.”   All three of them laughed. Watson helped to sit him at a 90 degree angle leaning against a file cabinet.  Holmes took his magnifying glass and examined George’s shoes.  George chattered to Watson, as Holmes did his examination.  “You know, Dr. Watson, it’s a common misconception that overweight men have rather large-”  

Both men looked up at George.  Holmes deliberately stopped his inspection to give George his full attention. “Large what, Mr. George?” he asked with wrinkled brow.

George’s face reddened. “I know what you two are thinking and you should be ashamed of yourselves!  What I meant to say was large feet.  All of my life I have worn a size 7 shoe.  Isn’t that amazing?  If the rest of my body was modeled by my shoe size, I would be as fit as a fiddle.”

Watson nodded. “Unusual, but not impossible.  Because of your misshapen feet, you most likely found exercising to be rather difficult.  However, the swelling could be an indication of water retention.  Your shoes fit comfortably because of their wide length.  So your condition might be a symptom rather than a cause.  What do you think, Holmes?”

Holmes paused before speaking.  “Indeed, you were right, Mr. George.  The wax on your shoes is of the same consistency as the wax on your hooked prosthesis. Tell me something, Mr. George.  After the Robeson incident, did you have access to the freight car in which the package was taken?”

George put his hand up to his mouth, in a gesture of deep thought.  “Only one time, Mr. Holmes.  Just once and very limited, might I add.  Inspector Traub and his Sergeant were called in by Johnson, after the Robesons had registered a complaint.  I was then taken in through the side door to help with the investigation.  However, I was not permitted to go any further.”

Holmes paced the floor.  “Tell me something, Mr. George.  Is it at all possible to exit the train through this side door that you’re referring to?”

George laughed. “Even somebody half my weight would have found it to be difficult.  He would have had to go through seven passenger cars and be seen by dozens of people in the process. Then he would have had to exit the train with the heavy package in hand, while the train was in motion.  I honestly cannot see how such is possible.”

Holmes put his fingers in motion, drawing an imaginary circle.  “Quite.  Your description does sound accurate.  Mr. George, would you be a gentleman and escort Dr. Watson and myself to the freight car in question.  We need to do our own investigation, if such is permissible.  If you are worried about Mr. Johnson, I will assume the brunt of the consequences.”

George smiled.  “You are my kind of people, Mr. Holmes.  Now if you gentlemen would be so kind as to help me up-”  Holmes and Watson turned to each other, both with a pained look on their faces.

****************

An hour later, Watson and Holmes were wheeling Big George in a sturdy home-made wheel cart.  George was happy, waving to his co-workers as they passed by different people. Holmes and Watson were pushing their load with a great deal of effort, feeling anything but happy.  George tapped Holmes' arm.  “Left turn please, inspector.  The freight car that was transporting the Robeson package is right over there.”  A few minutes later, they were at the entrance to the car.  George signaled for them to lean the cart on an angle. Somehow, he managed to pick himself up out of the seat.  An exhausted Holmes and Watson sat down on benches near the freight car.  George slowly walked over to them and sat down on the bench next to them.  “That was where it all happened, Mr. Holmes.  Till this day, I don’t know how it was done.  I followed procedure.  Every person who came into and out of the freight area was to be inspected from head to toe.  I inspected them all myself.  There was nothing on anyone.  Nobody took anything in.  Nobody took anything out.”

Holmes caught his breath.  “Mr. George, when you use the general pronouns ’everyone’ and ‘no one,’ who exactly are you referring to?”  

George wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.  “Please don’t tell Mr. Johnson.  If he found out about what I will tell you now, it won’t just be my head on the platter.  Half of the engineering staff of our company could go down for this.”

Holmes nodded. “You have my word, Mr. George.”

 Watson followed suit. “And mine.”

George nodded. “For some time now, our company has been annoyed with the problem of hobos, tramps and vagabonds who hopped aboard our transport vehicles in the hope of securing free passage to wherever they were going to.  At first we tried to shoo them away, even threatening them with the authorities.  However, nothing seemed to perturb them.  These gentlemen were just down on their luck, some just looking to get out of the cold or to secure a free meal, or maybe some menial work to attain a few coins.  Well, since we saw they were not intending on going away any time soon, some of the mid-management staff, myself included, voted to use their labor productively.  We offered them the chance for a free meal and a few coins to hold them over for awhile, if they would help out with the menial tasks that we had no time nor desire to perform.  Sweeping, mopping, general cleaning duties were gladly done by those poor unfortunates who were shunned by the authorities.  However, we all agreed that it would be a mistake to fully trust them with anything of value, so it was general policy to search them thoroughly upon entering and leaving the cars.  To the best of our knowledge, nothing was either brought in or taken out of the cars.”

Holmes got up and paced.  “Somehow those facts will prove relevant, I’m sure.  However, Dr. Watson and myself will need to investigate the car ourselves before asking any further questions.”

George nodded and escorted them over to the train entrance, slowly.  He signaled to the two workmen who were there working . “You two, take a break, the inspector and his associate need some time to check out the freight car.”  The two workmen quickly disembarked and walked in the direction of the lunchroom.  George pointed to the entrance. “It’s all yours, Mr. Holmes.  I’ll be waiting here to lock up when you’re finished.  But please, take all the time that you need.”  Holmes and Watson nodded to him respectfully and boarded the train and closed the door behind them.

As was their usual practice, Holmes observed silently with his magnifying glass, while Watson took notes in his pad.  They communicated through glances and facial expressions, though not a word was spoken.  Verbal conversation was always reserved for later, in a setting in which they knew that they were completely alone.  Fifteen minutes later, the inspection was over and once again, they were talking to Big George.  He seemed to be slightly more relaxed at that point.  Most likely, he had commissioned one of his workmen to go to the icebox to retrieve a few bottles of brown juice and an overstuffed mystery meat sandwich.  George hungrily ate, while he greeted the inspectors upon their return. “Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson!  Welcome! How about a bite of lunch?”  The detective and the doctor did not want to seem impolite, but they respectfully declined.  Holmes lit his pipe as George swallowed.  As soon as he could speak he said,  “I do hope that your investigation was productive.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow.  “Bits and pieces, Mr. George.  I still need some more information if you would be so kind.  About those hobos and vagabonds that we discussed earlier; tell me something, were there any new hires, someone who you had not seen before, perhaps?”

George scratched his bald head.  “I can remember just one, actually.  He was a short fellow, very slightly paunchy.  He was well covered up, trying to hide the scars of an illness, perhaps.  He was a dark-skinned man, perhaps in his mid thirties.”  

Holmes paced and wrinkled his brow.  “I see.  And he passed your search test, both upon coming in and going out?”

George nodded.  “Yes. I searched him myself, Mr. Holmes.  He took nothing in with him and took nothing out either.”

Holmes paused a moment to think.  “Tell me something, then.  Was he wearing anything noticeable, like a necklace, a ring or other piece of jewelry?”

George thought for a moment.  “I really could remember just one thing, actually.  A small, odd-shaped crucifix.  I only remember it because of its’ sharp edge.  I nearly cut my hand on the damn thing.”

Watson looked puzzled, but Holmes smiled with satisfaction.  “Thank you, Mr. George, you have been very helpful.”

Watson shook his head. “But Holmes, I just don’t get it.”

George nodded in agreement. “Nor do I, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.  “Just an idea, gentlemen.  It may mean nothing, but just as likely, it may be the key to this whole mystery.  At any rate, Dr. Watson and I should be going right now.  We need to get to the Junefield Psychiatric Center.  We are visiting a friend.  The center is located in Perth Am-I’m sorry, I’m quite unfamiliar with this part of town.”

George nodded.  “Perth Amboy.  Yes, I am familiar with where Junefield is located.  In my days as a young man, I had to spend some time there myself.  Not a good place to be, Mr. Holmes.  I was admitted with a dietary disorder, in which I was tragically underweight.  The doctors screwed up my medication and suffice to say, well-- the rest is history.  So, I strongly recommend that you get your friend away from that place as soon as possible.”

Watson opened his mouth in surprise.  “You mean, you were--never mind. Holmes, we need to get to see Alfie before--who knows what could happen?!”

 Holmes nodded. “Concern noted, Watson. Mr. George, would you be so kind as to assist with the travel arrangements?"

George smiled.  “Surely.”  He yelled to one of the dark-skinned maintenance men.  “Montgomery!  Get over here!”

A young black man in his mid-twenties came over to greet them.  “Yes, sir, Mr. George.“  

George introduced the young man to the two inspectors.   “Montgomery, please show these fine gentlemen to the blue line express, first train to pull out. See that they’re seated in the guest car.  I’ll take care of the fare myself.  Any problems with Johnson about their conveyance, let me know.”

Montgomery saluted his boss.  “Yes, sir.”  

George shook the guests’ hands and then gave them parting instructions.  “The train should leave in about 15 minutes. Get off at Hazel Street.  Walk two blocks.  Make a left turn at the old church at the corner.  Look carefully or you’ll miss it.  Junefield is on the next block.  And Mr. Holmes--” He paused, indicating with a nod of his head for Montgomery to stand off to the side.  “Please clear my name.  I don’t know how this miscarriage of justice happened, but I can assure you of my innocence.”

Holmes shook his hand. “Duly noted, sir.  Thank you for your assistance.”  He turned to Watson who stood off to the side with Montgomery.  “Let’s go, Watson.  We have places to go.  A man’s sanity could be in question.”

Watson smiled sarcastically.  “I think that it already is.”  Montgomery looked puzzled.

Holmes tapped Watson’s foot with his cane, none too gently. “Forgive my friend’s joviality, Mr. Montgomery.  He has an odd sense of humor.  Come, let us be on our way.  Time is a-wasting.”  They followed Montgomery through a short passageway, out of sight of Mr. George.  Holmes took the initiative.  “Mr. Montgomery, do you believe your friend Mr. George to be an honorable man?”

Montgomery responded without hesitation.  “Yes, Mr. Holmes.  Very much so.  I don’t know anybody else who is so good at hiding his pain.”

Watson wrinkled his brow.  “You mean, his emotional pain, which comes as a result of his unfortunate physical handicap and obesity?”

Montgomery sighed.  “He tries to put on a brave face, Dr. Watson, but his prosthetic arm is not fitted well at all.  It’s causing him a great deal of physical pain, actually.”

Holmes looked at him.  “How does he bear it then?”

Montgomery sighed.  “He finds a way to self-medicate somehow.  I don’t know the details.  He has no medical coverage, since he fell out of grace with Johnson.”

Holmes scratched his beard, in a mock gesture of judgementalism.  “Imagine that, Watson; a man in pain who self-medicates.”

Watson jabbed him playfully and shook his head.  Montgomery did not understand, but did not wish to question the matter.  They approached a train, a large freighter, with a blue streak marked on the side.  Montgomery rolled up his sleeve and removed his bracelet.  He lifted his hand to do so, without bending forward; an oddity which Holmes did not fail to notice.  There was a certain charm-shaped object which stood out from the other ornaments.  He found the metal charm, inserted it into a lock on one of the doors and slid the door sideways to reveal the interior of the car.  Holmes and Watson exchanged an odd look of puzzlement, which Montgomery caught.  He decided to answer the question, which he so accurately anticipated.   “Yes, the charm on my bracelet is indeed a key to the train’s guest passenger car. You see, lately, we’ve been having some trouble with security.  Johnson’s been trying to cut back by firing three security guards.  Since then, we’ve had incidents of strange people coming into our yards at all hours of the day and night.  Some were just looking for shelter.  Others had more dishonest intentions.  We have been robbed several times, our keys stolen and our money train raided.  So, the board came up with the idea of changing the locks to make them fit keys of different sizes and shapes.  Some are small enough to carry around our necks or on our wrists.”

Holmes raised his eyebrows, in a moment of insight.  “Like a charm on a bracelet or an ornament on a necklace, no doubt.”

Montgomery nodded. “Yes.  Since we’ve adopted the new security measures, incidents of crime in and around the yard area here have been significantly reduced.  Of course, that was all before the mystery of the ’Robeson parcel’ had occurred.  Since then, we’ve all been suffering.  In the wake of the incident, Mayor Vogler has fired the current Head Chancellor and promoted Johnson to acting Chancellor, giving him full power to do whatever he wanted.  As you could see, Mr. Holmes, he’s been abusing his power drastically. Please, gentlemen, solve this case, as quickly as possible, so that things can start to go back to normal around here.”

Holmes patted him on the back reassuringly.  “Don’t worry, Mr. Montgomery.  Even as we speak, the pieces are fitting together.  I thank Mr. George and yourself for your hospitality.  Good day.”  Montgomery helped them aboard and then closed the sliding door behind them.  They were finally alone. They pondered in silence for a few short moments, as they listened to the train’s engines start and pick up speed at a slow pace and then speed up.  Holmes watched Watson as he studied his notes.  “So, Watson, what did your observations while we were aboard the freight car reveal to you?”

Watson looked down at his notes to check his facts. “The large wax foot prints that we had seen from before were almost too obvious.  Somebody had used a type of wax in some type of inascertainable manner, in the commission of his crime.”

Holmes sighed gently.  “Are you sure that our suspect is male, old chap?”  

Watson’s face reddened. “Holmes!!”

Holmes put his hand on his friend’s shoulder to calm him.  “Calm down, Watson, I was not blaming anybody just yet.  All that I was advising was that we keep our minds open to those whom we have met, who we cannot just yet eliminate as suspects.  On that note, you must admit that we have not yet found supporting evidence to eliminate Nurse Amberling from the aforementioned agenda.”

Watson cringed away from Holmes‘ efforts to comfort him, and then turned around once again to face his friend with a widened, angry stare.  “I don’t know, Holmes, maybe the reason why you were unable to eliminate her from the suspect list is because you have made absolutely no effort whatsoever to talk to her.  Could that be possible?”

Holmes sighed.  “All things are possible, until proven otherwise, my friend.”  There was a moment of silence which was broken by Watson.

“Very well, endless speculation about what we don’t know is getting us nowhere.  So, let’s get back to the facts.  Who have we definitely eliminated as a suspect at this point?”

Holmes gave a thoughtful glance and then took a moment to light his pipe.  “First off, Abigail Robeson.”  

Watson nodded.  “Because she is with child and is physically unable to perform the tasks necessary to perpetrate the crime?”

Holmes shook his head.  “No, old chap.  Two reasons: one, Miss Ludden’s insistence on keeping her away from any conversation about the secret family business, and two: because of the size of her feet.  You noticed the size of the wax footprints compared to the size of her boots.  Big difference.  Such is the same reason why we could cross Mr. George off the suspect list as well.  The size of their feet, my friend, was just too bloody small!”

Watson laughed. “So, his obese size and his physical handicap have absolutely nothing to do with proving his inability to commit the crime.  You’re a real piece of work, Holmes. You’re the only detective who would be able to eliminate an obese man and a pregnant woman from a suspect pool for the same reason.  So, then what about Alfie?”

Holmes let out a breath of air.  “It is logical to assume that our small family of miscreants would not go so far out of their way to keep us away from him, if he were working with them.  His testimony would be welcomed, rather than feared.  Indeed, the Carriage Master Ericsohn would not have thought it to be worth his while to scare him into silence. Hence, the fight that I had witnessed while standing in the shadows, would never have happened.  In addition, his protectiveness toward Miss Abigail would be inconsistent with any intention to mislead us. We’ll probably learn more, upon our visit to Junefield.  However, for now, we must assume his innocence.”

Watson nodded.  “As usual, your logic is sound and earnest.  Well then, how do Johnson and Montgomery measure up?”

Holmes gave the matter some thought.  “As far as Johnson is concerned, there is no doubt that everybody has reason to hate him.  He definitely possesses the ruthlessness that would be necessary to commit this shameful act.  However, you’re forgetting, old boy, that he has absolutely nothing to gain by hiding the truth from us.  To secure his position as Head Chancellor, he would have to see to it that this mystery is solved somehow under his regime of cruelty and terrorism.  Although he is a thoroughly annoying person, it is logical to assume that he has been honest with us.  As far as Montgomery is concerned, in case you haven’t noticed the man was wearing a back brace.  Therefore, he was physically incapable of bending over.  Such would make it impossible for him to go through the mechanics which would be necessary to perpetrate the crime.  It’s elementary, Dear Watson!”

Watson laughed.  “I would never have imagined that from our large pool of suspects, he would be the only one that you would be able to eliminate for reasons of physical ineptitude.”

Holmes puffed his pipe. “However, Mr. Montgomery’s testimony was indeed invaluable.  Indeed, he had helped to answer the question of how our mysterious vagabond had opened the ’Robeson’ box and did whatever was necessary to hide the body.  It also explains how he eluded the incoming and outgoing clothing and body search imposed by Mr. George and his team.”

Watson wrinkled his brow. “I fail to understand, Holmes.”

Holmes got up and paced the car, as he once again puffed took a puff on his pipe.  “You need to think outside the box, Watson (pun fully intended, old chap). Now think carefully, according to the Robeson’s testimony, the box that was addressed to me via Inspector Traub was an exact replica of the box that the Robesons had used to transport the body.  The box had a lock on it, if you had noticed.  If you had carefully observed the shape of the lock on the box, it was criss-crossed shaped, which meant that it could only be opened with a criss-crossed shaped key.  Now, in the same way, as Mr. Montgomery hid his key to this freight car on his bracelet as a chain ornament, the suspect most likely would have hid the key to the box as-”  

Watson opened his mouth in astonishment and continued where Holmes had left off.  “-as a criss-crossed shaped necklace ornament, much like the one that Mr. George had described, upon searching the stranger.  Holmes, you’re a genius!”

Holmes laughed. “Your praises are premature, old boy.  We have only scratched the tip of the iceberg. We still have a long way to travel on our journey.”

Watson nodded as the train slowed down.  The conductor’s voice said loudly overly the intercom.  “Good afternoon, passengers.  We are now approaching Hazel Street station.” Holmes and Watson sat down and prepared themselves for the jolt of the train’s engines coming to a halt.  Holmes looked out the window, wondering what new mysteries would be awaiting them as they continued on this very strange journey. 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Junefield Psychiatric Center was a very forbidding place; and such was only from the perspective of the visitors. The patients, on the other hand, well…suffice to say, that nobody ‘in their right mind’ had ever reported anything that went on behind those closed doors. 

Indeed, the first blockade presented itself to Sherlock Holmes in the form of an annoying woman with short, brown hair in her mid to late 30’s. She sat robot-like at her keyboard, typing information on her heavy, black typewriter. Holmes noticed the name tag on her uniform labeled: ’Blanche Topole, Admistrator.”

Holmes politely addressed her by her name and she continually ignored him. “Miss Topole, this is a matter of great urgency, I assure you. We need to see Mister John Alomar at once. The matter is urgent.” 

Topole continued typing. “With all due respect, sir, it is not logical to assume that talking louder to me would hasten me in any manner to expedite your passage to the patient ward.” She continued typing, without skipping a beat. 

Watson intervened. “Miss Topole, my partner is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, world renowned detective, and I am Dr. James Watson, Nobel Baccalaureate, New England Journal of Medicine. Please believe that we are here to follow up on a matter of great urgency.”

She stopped typing and faced Watson, ignoring Holmes. “Let me call Dr. Ritter. Please have a seat, gentlemen.”

Holmes and Watson sat down, while the Administrator made her phone call. 

Watson smiled like a wide-eyed Cheshire cat. “See, I told you, old boy. Admit it, there are just some things that I can do better than you.” 

Holmes sighed. “Until we are on the other side of those doors, my friend, I elect to reserve judgment.”

Topole hung up the phone and faced the two visitors. “Come over here please, gentlemen.”

Watson hummed the British National Anthem under his breath quietly. Holmes jabbed him in the ribs playfully. 

Topole sat unmoved. “Gentlemen, I have just spoken to the attending doctor who is in charge of Mr. Alomar’s care. You are right, Dr. Watson. Your presence here does indeed incur the occasion of special treatment.”

Watson returned Holmes’ jab. “What did I tell you, old boy, hmm?!”

Holmes did not answer but stared stoically at the prudish Administrator. 

She continued. “According to Dr. Ritter, both of you are to leave the premises immediately, and not to come within forty feet of this hospital now or any time at all, under penalty of arrest and prosecution to the fullest extent of the law. Have a nice day, gentlemen.” She resumed her typing. 

Holmes put up two fingers as a gesture to Watson. The doctor understood and nodded. 

Watson headed toward the exit in a apparently fully defeated fashion, but Holmes pressed on in the opposite direction. “Of all the highhanded arrogance! I don’t give a bloody damn!!” In one jump, he hopped over the partition and entered the doors quickly. 

Watson turned back, putting on a gesture of alarm and surprise. “Holmes!!”

Topole did not seem to be the least bit disturbed. “Please have a seat, doctor. Your friend will be with you shortly.”

She got up calmly and went in through the forbidden doors. In that short moment, Watson quickly looked through the book on the end of the long desk. It was the hospital logs. He took some quick notes and replaced his notebook in his pocket. He could hear banging and yelling from within, which was coming closer to his direction. 

Quickly, he sat down once again, before being discovered. 

In another moment, a very embarrassed, red-faced Sherlock Holmes emerged from the room, being dragged by the expressionless hospital Administrator Blanche Topole. She was tugging him by the earlobe. She dropped him at Watson’s feet, with as much effort as would be used to dump yesterday’s garbage and shook her head. “Your antics are getting tiresome, gentlemen. Please leave now.”

Holmes muttered the word “harridan” under his breath, not intending it to be heard by the administrator. However, her hearing was unanticipatedly sharp, and she stopped her typing and turned around toward them. 

They quickly ran out of the exit door without another moment’s thought. 

When both were safely outside and away from the hearing range of the hospital, Holmes remarked, “So, I trust that my diversion was not in vain.”

Watson took out his notebook. “That moment’s search revealed that this hospital happens to employ a certain Dr. James Wilson, who I just happened to meet at a medical awards dinner in Boston very briefly. He is about my age and is expected to return today to work, after a brief vacation. The timing could not be more perfect, actually.”

Holmes laughed. “Good thinking, old boy. Now let’s have at it. Do you believe that you have mastered the good doctor’s verbal intonations just long enough to get us inside of the facility?”

Watson thought a moment. “With a little bit of thought and careful planning, we could pull this off. I’ll need some help from your portable make-up kit and ID makeovers. However, we would have to proceed quickly. Come, let us go over to the supply room. I could get in as a visiting doctor and get what we need.”

********

Mr. Morton Josephs was given the questionable honor of being labeled the ‘emergency room’ watchdog. It was impossible to get inside or outside of the facility without getting past him. Indeed, he was not only the senior security guard, but the only man on duty who was allowed a gun permit, with full permission to use the weapon when he deemed necessary. The fifty-five year old African-American gentleman, in reality, hated his job. He was counting the days till retirement and was saving up for his son’s college fund-- wishing and hoping for the day that there would be a man of color in some type of public office. His son had ambition and brains and hopefully, when his time came, would have opportunity as well. In the meantime, Daddy would do his bit ’working for the man’ so that his son would someday--- 

His fantasy was rudely interrupted by a young, sandy-haired doctor wheeling a gurney. The patient was tied down in a straight jacket, yelling and screaming. 

“Excuse me, sir, I must get this patient in to surgery immediately. He needs a full lobotomy!” 

The security guard looked at them suspiciously. “Just a minute, you wait, Dr. Wilson. You know procedure. I must log you in. I’m surprised at you. You know--Just a minute, Dr. Wilson, your skin color is a bit strange. Let me check your ID now!”

Watson tried not to show fear as he boldly flashed the made-up ID card in front of the security guard. It was not too much work to change the typing on the card from ’at’ to ’il.’ Indeed, most guards would not have questioned the issue, but they just happened to get stuck with this guy, the one security guard in the hospital who carried a firearm.  
Watson gulped nervously. Josephs grunted. “Either an old picture or you spent a heck of a lot of time in the sun.”

Watson thought quickly. “Been down in the south, you know.”

Josephs raised his eyebrows suspiciously. “Would change your skin, not your voice. I’m calling Administrator Topole. There’s something wrong here!”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair. Holmes knew that it was time for his little act to commence. 

“I want my Vicodin, damn you all to hell! The pain! The pain!”

Josephs stared directly at the patient. “I don’t know who you think you are, sir, but you had better--”

Holmes took one his free hands out of the gurney and drew Josephs closer to him. The guard, who was caught completely off guard, stared wide-eyed at the patient. In the meantime, Watson took advantage of the distraction and disarmed the guard as a precaution, taking the gun out of the other man’s holster slowly and putting it into his own lab coat pocket.

Holmes looked up at the guard, drawing him closer once again. Holmes looked into Josephs’ eyes longingly. “Can’t you see, Irene, that I love you! It’s been so long. Come closer and kiss me, dear!”

Josephs struggled and got away. He reached for his firearm and it was gone. Unsettled, preoccupied and worried, he faced the frantic doctor and patient. “You guys had better be the real thing! I’ll let you through. But try starting any trouble and you’ll have me to answer to. Now go!”

Watson quickly nodded to the guard and walked through the doors, as Josephs reluctantly buzzed him in. 

When they were safely on the other side, Holmes harrumphed. “Really, Watson, a lobotomy, indeed! Don’t you think you were overdoing it just a little bit? If you weren’t so bloody nervous-and your American accent-At least mine was believable. You sounded something between a castrated Aussie and a New Englander.”

Watson snorted, as they got on the elevator, trying to follow the signs to the patient ward. “Well, at least I didn’t try to kiss a security guard. If I didn’t disarm the old codger, we both would have been either dead or having to succumb to the painful ministrations of an angry Administrator Topole. I don’t know which would have been worse at this point in time, actually.”

They were silent as the elevator doors opened. A strange man in a dark coat and hat entered the elevator. His face was completely covered by a black hat. His stature was short and skinny. He did not press an elevator button, so was obviously going to the same floor as Holmes and Watson. There was an uncomfortable silence as the elevator doors opened. The man gestured for the gurney to go ahead of him. Watson nodded respectfully. The strange man watched on, following circumspectly. 

Watson carefully wheeled the gurney to a juncture in the hallway. Two signs were up ahead. One was labeled: ’Electroshock Therapy Center.’ The other was labeled: ’Patient Reception Area.’ The signs were pointing in opposite directions. Watson paused at the juncture. 

Holmes turned his head to check out the signs. “Turn right, old boy. Isn’t it obvi--Wait a minute. You’re not thinking--Watson, you’re getting me nervous now!!”

Watson put on an evil smile. “You know, Holmes, perhaps the treatment could do you some good, old chap. You know you’re a drug addict, you’re a social recluse and your life in general is a complete mess. A lot of favorable research has shown--”

They were silent as Dr. Rentuk Kalpen’s voice was heard loudly in the adjacent corridor. He was yelling. Holmes and Watson turned silent. Watson quickly wheeled the gurney in the direction of the shouting. 

The other voice that they heard was female. It had the vocal timbre and deep intonation of coming from an older woman. 

Holmes and Watson quickly ducked into a large unused office. Within a minute, they ditched their disguises and were now in their regular Baker Street attire. They silently moved closer to the conference room where the voices were coming from. Luckily, the door was open just a little bit so that the two detectives could hear what was being said. 

They peeped in, just enough through the shadows to see the movements of Kalpen and the older woman. She was a nurse, who was close to the age of 60. She wore her clothing somewhat more officially than Nurse Amberling. She had long, grayish blond hair. 

Kalpen was in the middle of a rant. “Listen, Bridgette. You’ve worked with me for a long time. You know how I work. I’ve tried to accommodate you and Dr. Ritter. But this time, you’ve gone too far! I simply refuse to do this. It’s unethical. It goes against all we’ve worked for--the oaths we’ve taken.”

The old nurse laughed bitterly. “You mean to tell me that you didn’t see this coming? As soon as you and that white trash girl friend of yours hooked up with my daughter and her family, you thought that you could just take, take, take and give nothing back?! Grow up, Kalpen! Sign the papers and be done with it!”

Kalpen’s eyes widened. He took a step closer to the angry nurse. “First of all, Bridgette, you know me to be a gentle and honorable man. However, if you as much as negatively hint just one more time about Samantha’s honor and credibility, I will cut you down where you stand. That is a promise! Whether or not I choose to sign your paper, know this, Samantha and I have worked with you and your daughter’s family for reasons that you know are honorable!” 

Nurse Bridgette took a step back, not expecting Kalpen’s response. 

In the meantime, Holmes and Watson, now fully engrossed in the conference room dramatics did not notice the footsteps of the two gentlemen who were approaching them from behind. 

“Which applies to neither of you scoundrels!” Holmes and Watson quickly turned around to face the source of the voice. The two men facing them were quite different. The first man’s voice was the source of the comment. He was a sandy-haired man, in his late 30’s or early 40’s. He was lean, muscular and tough-looking. He was wearing a lab coat, which bore the ID tag labeled: ‘Thomas Ritter MD.’ 

The second man was woefully familiar to them. He was the security guard from downstairs. He approached Watson and threw him up against the wall. He quickly ran his hands through the doctor’s pockets and retrieved the gun. “I believe this is mine, you slimy worm!” He turned Watson around and pointed the gun directly at him. “So, you like playing with guns, do you now--”

In less than half a second, Holmes was on top of the security guard, flinging the gun away from him and confronting him directly. 

By that time, Kalpen and Bridgette’s attention was taken away from whatever they were talking about and they ran into the hallway to observe the ruckus. 

Ritter picked up the gun and fired one shot in the air to get everyone’s attention. All were silent. 

Ritter then turned to the security guard and handed him back his gun. “You can go, Morty. I’ll handle these ne’er do wells.”

Josephs nodded respectfully to Ritter. “Dr. Ritter, you’re not going to report this to Administrator Topole, are you now?”

Ritter smiled. “No, I’ll let it go for this time. You’ve been cooperative in granting access to my little science experiments without asking any questions. You will continue to do so, right?”

Josephs smiled uncomfortably. “Yes, sir, Dr. Ritter! You have a nice day.” Josephs quickly turned down the hall and walked away. For the first time, he actually felt sorry for the two strange gentlemen. A small part of him actually regretted reporting them to Ritter, but the alternative was giving a full report to Administrator Topole about the stolen weapon. And by following the second alternative, he would…well, it would be highly unlikely that he would ever see his wife and son again. Even so, he still got the shivers when speculating about whatever those two strangers would have to face….


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A half hour later, Holmes, Watson, Nurse Bridgette, Kalpen and Dr. Ritter were all huddled together in a small conference room. The door was locked. Holmes and Watson was sitting on a small uncomfortable couch. Kalpen sat on a chair near the couch, with his head in his hands. 

Nurse Bridgette stood up near Holmes. He took a close look at her ID badge and quickly put together some of the pieces of the puzzle. Bridgette’s name badge was labeled: ‘Bridgette Ludden RN.’

‘That would explain a lot…’ Holmes thought silently to himself. 

Ritter silently paced and smiled. He finally turned around to face Holmes directly. When he spoke, he talked slowly and carefully, thoroughly enjoying the moment. 

“So, you’re the great Sherlock Holmes. Hmm. Somehow, I envisioned you as being taller, a little more muscular, perhaps. The legend does not befit the man, I must say.”

Holmes sat stoically, without saying a word. It was Watson who got up and spoke. “Dr. Ritter, with all due respect, do you diagnose your patients by just looking at them? If you knew my friend, you would speak to him with much more respect, I assure you.”

Ritter just laughed harder. “Sit down, Dr. Watson. As a fellow man of medicine, your behavior is even more ridiculous than his. I read your article in the New England journal of Medicine. You really envision a future in which ’Diagnostic Medicine’ would have its own branch of practice? Give me a break. It’s no wonder that you hang around with this overage boy scout.”

Kalpen stood up. “Now see here, Dr. Ritter. These are honorable gentlemen. They are just here to see a patient. They mean you no harm nor do they pose any threat to you in any way. If you would have let them have their visit with Mr. Alomar in the first place, they would have already been out of here and on their way back to the Robeson estate.”

Ritter turned angrily at Kalpen. “You, my friend, have the least rights of any of you. I own you! You work for me! Doctor, patient, security guard, poop collector, I care not, you’re all accountable to me. This is my domain! And the three of you have crossed the line.”

Holmes stood up, faced Ritter directly. “Surely, any patient in your hospital has the right to receive visitors. Is that not true?”

Ritter, obviously taken aback, looked directly at Holmes. “Yes, if the patient has any visitors. However, if the visitors themselves are patients here, well, we simply can’t allow that, now can we, Nurse Bridgette?”

Bridgette immediately picked up where the doctor left off. An evil smile came upon her face. “Why no, Dr. Ritter. Patients here suffer from deep psychiatric problems and by allowing them to interact with other patients who are more disturbed than they are, well our hospital by-laws simply would not allow that!”

Watson got up. “Surely you’re not thinking of committing us, you charlatan! I’ll bring you up on charges so quickly that you wouldn’t be able to practice medicine in a Brazilian village sweat shop!”

Ritter just laughed harder. “Dr. James Watson. You have quite a reputation on the other side of your pond. Indeed, you have repaired a great many stiff upper lips on your Baker Street palace. You’re really quite the hero in merry old England, old chap, aren’t you? Well, I hate to say it, old boy, but we’re not in merry old England now. We’re in New Jersey. This is my town, Dr. Watson. You can only practice at my discretion. And I personally do not deem you to be mentally fit enough to practice medicine.”

Holmes walked toward Ritter and got up face to face with him. “Now see here, you do not talk to my friend like that!”

Watson gently took Holmes by the shoulder. “He does, I’m afraid, old boy. He does have the power to do as he says.”

Kalpen got between them. “My friends, please, sit down. This is not about you. It’s my issue with Dr. Ritter. Dr. Ritter, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll sign your paperwork regarding Mr. Alomar’s admission, if you agree to allow my friends their visiting time with Mr. Alomar, and allow them to leave the hospital safely without incident.”

Ritter sternly turned to the three of them and spoke quickly. “A half hour visit and they’re out of here.”

Holmes turned to Kalpen. “Dr. Kalpen, there must be some reason as to your reservations about signing that document.”

Kalpen turned to Holmes and yelled, “I’ve had it with the both of you!” He grabbed the detective by the jacket collar and turned him around for a millisecond out of the visual range of Ritter and Bridgette. However, Watson’s line of vision was unobstructed. He noticed that Kalpen carefully slipped a card into Holmes’ shirt pocket. 

Kalpen let go of Holmes and yelled loudly. “If I was not such a gentleman, I’d show you how I felt about the whole lot of you Brit rat bastards!” Kalpen quickly signed the document on the desk and left the room in a huff.

Ritter picked up the document and examined it carefully. He turned approvingly to Bridgette. “Bridgette, please escort our visitors to Mr. Alomar’s room. It will be good for them actually to see how we handle those who don’t know how to submit to authority. A half hour only, not a moment more and they go, or else you have my orders to make their residency more permanent.”

She smiled at him with affection. “Yes, Doctor. I’ll see you later to discuss our…agenda.”

He returned the smile. “Yes, at the usual time and place.” He turned to Holmes and Watson. “Enjoy your visit here, gentlemen. Remember carefully everything that you see and hear and DON’T even consider ever returning.” He turned his back on them and the two detectives left with Nurse Bridgette. 

Holmes quickly spoke to her when they were out of earshot of Ritter. They paused as they waited for the elevator. “Nurse Bridgette, I could not help noticing your name tag. Your last name is Ludden, I gather. You would not be in any way related to our charming hostess, Calinda Ludden, would you now?”

Bridgette turned to face him with a threatening gesture. “Mr. Holmes, sometimes being too curious can be dangerous. It is wise to mind your own affairs. However, your observation is correct. Calinda is my daughter.”

Holmes turned toward her to comment, pretending surprise. “Indeed?!”

The elevator came and the three passengers got on. They were alone on the entire ride to the fourth floor. Holmes spoke first. “You know, Nurse Bridgette, your daughter is quite the hostess.”

Bridgette smiled approvingly. “I have taught her well, Mr. Holmes. I brought her up to be a true lady, in every sense of the word, just like me.”

Holmes responded accordingly, not being able to conceal an edge of sarcasm. “I have no doubt about that.”

She cast Holmes a suspicious look, as they exited the elevator. However, she chose to address Watson. “Dr. Watson, if you are a guest at my daughter’s residence, I’m sure that you have met Nurse Victoria Amberling by this time.”

Watson’s eyes brightened. “Yes, you know her?!”

Bridgette laughed bitterly. “She was once an employee of this hospital, actually.”

Holmes caught her tone of laughter and wanted more details. “Indeed, did she leave under honorable circumstances?”

Bridgette paused, evidently enjoying the moment. “I had to fire her. She was stealing drugs.” 

Watson stopped and took her by the arms firmly. “What?! There is no way…”

Bridgette turned toward Watson and her eyes widened. “I advise you, Dr. Watson, to kindly remove your hands from my arms NOW!”

Holmes gently removed Watson’s hands from Bridgette’s arms. “Please, Nurse Bridgette, kindly excuse my friend’s premature show of emotion. I’m afraid that he has developed somewhat of a fancy for Nurse Amberling.”

Nurse Bridgette sighed. “She would probably get along with someone the likes of you, Dr. Watson. She was brilliant, capable and quite intelligent, but I simply could not contend with any type of criminal behavior. You can relate to that, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “For sure, Nurse Bridgette. But I have often found that criminal behavior as we know and understand it, has many levels. Indeed, most of what we see is simply the tip of the iceberg. In that vein, would you kindly share, in greater detail, the events of Nurse Amberling’s dismissal?” 

Bridgette just laughed. “It’s all in the police report that I filed with Inspector Traub. You could read it for yourself at your leisure.”

Watson opened his mouth to respond, but before doing so, Holmes carefully got between him and Bridgette. “You--you-- filed a police report?!”

Bridgette gave Watson a stern look. “In this hospital, Dr. Watson, we prosecute criminals to the full extent of the law. Indeed, if I had any say in the matter, that conceited tart would be rotting in jail right now, even as we speak.”

Holmes had to put a strong hand on Watson’s arm to prevent him from once again confronting Bridgette.

Holmes looked curiously at her. “Indeed, I don’t doubt the extent of your hatred toward Nurse Amberling. So, if what you are saying is true, do you know why she is, in fact, not in jail right now?”

Bridgette stopped walking and sat down on a bench, near one of the patient rooms. Once again, Holmes made sure to place himself directly in the middle of Watson and Bridgette.

She responded with an air of annoyance in her voice. “I’m not a police officer. Traub would have the details. However, what I do know is that old grandfather Robeson, may he rot in hell, had vouched for Miss Amberling’s character, and Traub let her off with a warning. I don’t want to talk about this any more!”

Holmes was quick to change the subject. “Indeed, you are correct. We are not here to discuss Nurse Amberling. Tell me something, are we any closer to Mr. Alomar’s room? Pardon my brevity, but Dr. Ritter did place us on a time limit, after all, and we do want to make the most of our visit.”

Bridgette’s mood did not improve with time. She seemed to be even more annoyed at Holmes’ reference to Mr. Alomar. She took a stop watch out of her pocket, set it and pushed down the start button. “Actually, you’re here. This is Johnny Alomar’s room. Go in now. May I remind you that you’re on the clock, starting now-29 minutes. Tend to your business and be done with it!”

Holmes and Watson quickly got up, Holmes tipping his hat, Watson depressingly dragging his step. Bridgette remained where she was, examining the minutes on her stop watch carefully. 

Holmes quietly opened the door to Alomar’s room. He and Watson entered and beheld the sad sight before them. The image that they saw looked nothing like the happy, optimistic, slightly quirky young gardener who they knew from the estate. He was a mere skeleton of himself, hooked up to 5 intravenous medications. His hair was messy and his unshaven beard was growing to unmanageable proportions. His gaze was wide-eyed and blank. He lay in the bed, muttering incomprehensible things to himself. 

Watson whispered to Holmes. “This is ghastly, Holmes. His behavior might have been a little bizarre, but by no standards is this severe type of treatment warranted for a patient like Mr. Alomar.”

Holmes slowly nodded. “Yes, it’s no wonder Dr. Kalpen was reluctant to have his name associated with Mr. Alomar’s admission here. It all makes sense. Come, let us talk with our unfortunate friend now. Soon the clock lady’s strong hand will beckon us.”

Watson sighed angrily. “The sooner we get away from her, the happier I’ll be.”

Holmes nodded and walked over to Johnny Alomar’s bed. “Mr. Alomar? Alfie?”

Alomar turned toward them with a slow twist of his neck. His gaze improved slightly with a tint of recognition. 

Watson noticed his slight improvement in composure. “Alfie, it’s Inspector Holmes and Dr. Watson. Listen, we know that you’re in trouble, but we want to help.”

The sad little man nodded ever so slightly. 

Holmes got up closer to his bedside. “Listen, Mr. Alomar. We know that you’re shamefully and unjustifiably incapacitated here. We’ll do what we could to get you out of here and back home to Abigail.”

His eyes focused quickly at the mention of her name. Watson noticed this improvement immediately and responded. “Yes, Alfie, we know and it’s okay. We told nobody. Your secret is safe with us.”

Alfie opened his mouth and tried to speak. Holmes and Watson drew closer to him. “Yes, old chap,” Holmes whispered to him. “Is there something that you wish to share with us?”

Alomar nodded slowly. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Your--your--your roooom.”

Holmes and Watson drew closer. Holmes took his hand firmly. “Yes, Alfie. We’re still here. We hear you. Our room. Our room at the estate, right?”

Alomar slowly nodded. 

Watson whispered to him. “What about our room, Alfie?”

The patient opened his mouth once again. “Mmmm ossst nay-nay-l-ooz rust. Rust.”

Holmes nodded. “Yes, lad. Most nails are rusty. We know. A product of age, no doubt. Please go on, if you can.”

Alfie opened his mouth with great effort. “F-ooo-rrr nails nawwght….”

He could not continue. He drifted off into a deep sleep.

Watson sighed. “Let him go to sleep, Holmes. Given the medications in these IVs, we’re lucky that he gave us as much as he did.”

Holmes ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner. “Most nails rusty. Four nails not. What does it mean, Watson?!”

Before Watson could attempt to hazard a guess, the door to the room opened and closed with a slam. The ‘clock lady’ stood by the door with stop watch in hand. “Time is up, gentlemen, let’s go!”


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

After Holmes and Watson were none too gently escorted off hospital grounds by four hefty-looking security guards, they sat on a park bench in silence for a moment, trying to process all that they had seen and heard. 

Holmes then picked up the conversation as if not a moment had passed. “Most nails rusty, four nails not. And it’s something in the guest room. I haven’t the foggiest, Watson. All I know is that it does definitely mean something.”

Watson nodded. “I have to agree. From my experience with narcotic medications, I could tell when a patient is lucid enough to be ‘in the moment’ so to speak. And Alfie definitely did recognize us. So what he was saying had to make sense to him, as a gesture to communicate with us.”

Holmes sighed. “So the burden is on us, old chap. We have the clue. We just have to ascertain what it all means.”

Watson let out a labored breath. “That bloody bastard Ritter. I’d like to wring that arrogant neck of his! Not to mention the ‘clock lady,’ the owl-eyed security guard and the creepy administrator. I’m telling you that place is nothing short of positively evil, Holmes!”

Holmes slowly stroked his beard. “Most likely our good friend, Dr. Kalpen, will agree with our sentiments.”

Watson wrinkled his brow. “Indeed. Speaking of which, I couldn’t help but notice that he slipped a piece of paper in your pocket after he strong-armed you and pushed you to the side."

Holmes smiled. “Quite observant, Watson. I wasn’t sure that you noticed. The good fellow also whispered an apology to me as he was doing so. However, I wanted to be as far away from Junefield as possible before attempting to read his note.”

Watson shook his head. “As usual your judgment is impeccable, Holmes. We should be on safe ground here. Why not open the note now, shall we?”

Holmes nodded and took the paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and read it aloud:

‘Five flowers at the 4 P.M. gallery. Seven bells of spiced Hazelnut.”

Watson scratched his head. “What does it mean, Holmes?”

Holmes paused to think. “No doubt it’s in code, Watson, intended for our protection, should it fall into enemy hands. Kalpen knows that I could decipher it expediently. Now to the puzzle, Watson. 4 P.M. is a time for a meeting with him, no doubt. Since the time now is 3 P.M., no doubt the address is within reasonable walking distance. The nonsense words that don’t seem to coincide with everything seem to have a common theme: flowers, gallery and spices. No place in this area that we passed on the way here within reasonable one hour walking distance seemed to possess any of those items. Therefore, those words are meant to be ignored. So what do we have left?”

Watson thought for a moment. “Five. Seven. Hazelnut? That makes less sense than the words that we just eliminated.”

Holmes shook his head. “Don’t you see, old chap? It was not meant to make sense. It is an address! Addresses as a rule are based on old street names and numbers, which sometimes could have no tangible logical reason or basis for analysis. What it is, is what it bloody is, Watson!”

Watson nodded. “All right, using your reasoning; the items ’five’ and ’seven’ taken together or separately could be the number of a street or building.”

Holmes smiled. “Yes, now think carefully about all the numbers of the buildings that we passed in coming here, walking from the train station.”

Watson groaned. “Holmes, really! I can’t remember trivialities such as that.”

Holmes sighed. “Think, Watson. The first number that we passed was the address of the train station itself. It was number 10. Such was how our train tickets were stamped. Therefore, the address labeled ‘10’ being the first double digit number was where we started. And before we turned the corner, you bought a raffle ticket at the local church. Would you kindly take out that ticket and show it to me, Watson?”

Watson sighed. “Holmes, really. A church raffle ticket is hardly of any significance. I just don’t get it.” He reluctantly took out his wallet and retrieved the ticket. He shook his head and handed it to Holmes. “The bloody numbers are probably expired by now, anyway. They already held the drawing. None of the numbers corresponded.”

Holmes analyzed the ticket and smiled. “Don’t you see, old man? It’s not the numbers on the bloody ticket that mean anything. That’s just gibberish. It’s the address of the store where you purchased it. That is stamped right on top. That is the key to this whole puzzle. Kindly read the address Watson.”

Watson looked carefully at the address. “99 Hazel Street. I still don’t get it, Holmes.”

Holmes shook his head impatiently. “Must I explain everything to you, old boy? Very well, since the element of time is not in our favor, I will be brief. We started our walk at number ‘10’ and we turned the corner at number ‘99.’ Therefore, that indicates that the numbers were in ascending order, thus eliminating the five and seven as single numbers. Therefore, taken together the five and the seven could equivocate to the number ’57.’ “

Watson snapped his fingers. “Brilliant, Holmes, but ’57’ is not in itself an address. We’re still not much better off than where we started from.”

Holmes put his head in his hands. “The one word that is left over now is ’Hazelnut’ which is the second part of the key to this thing. Dissecting the word in and of itself, we could pronounce the word as ’hazel’ and ’nut.’ We have not passed any stores that sold nuts. Therefore, only the word ’Hazel’ remains, which when put together gives us the address 57 Hazel Street! Come Watson, the game is afoot!”


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The doorway to 57 Hazel Street was locked. The sign outside read ’Pier 57 By The Bay.’ The walk took exactly one hour. They arrived on time. They rang the doorbell. A teenage girl with a name tag labeled “’Dawn” opened the door for them. She immediately let them in. Before they could say a word, she said to them, “Please come into the parlor. Uncle Rentuk is expecting you.”

They glanced at each other, completely puzzled. Their hostess spoke with a distinctively Russian accent. How could Dr. Kalpenn, who was of Hindi Indian origin, be her uncle? 

They were ushered into a large ballroom with a beautiful view of the ocean. Dr. Kalpenn sat at a table with a white tablecloth. He was alone and was sipping a glass of red wine. He appeared to be very sad when the young girl and the two detectives entered the room.

“Uncle Rentuk, your friends are here.”

Kalpenn turned around immediately and tried to put on a happier expression, but was not successful in doing so. 

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, please come in. Thank you so much for coming! Dawn, please bring our guests anything that they want. Don’t worry about cost. It’s my treat.”

Watson looked at Dr. Kalpenn’s half-filled glass. “What you’re having will suffice.”

Holmes nodded approvingly. “Quite.”

Kalpenn smiled. “Very well. Dawn, three glasses of red wine.”

The young girl wrote down the order on a pad. “Will there be anything else, then?”

Watson smiled. “Not right now, thank you.” The other two men nodded to indicate the same response. The girl left to get their drinks. 

Kalpenn looked quite different away from his medical setting. He wore a black pullover, a pair of black trousers and sturdy boots, more suitable for a common laborer than a professional man. “Thanks for coming, gentleman. Mr. Holmes, once again please excuse my overtly rude behavior towards you at Junefield. I wanted to give you a message without attracting the attention of Ritter and Old Lady Ludden.”

Holmes shook his head. “You needn’t explain, Doctor. I surmised that fact by my own deductive reasoning. No harm done.”

Watson looked around as the young girl returned with their order. “If there’s anything else, just call me, Uncle. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson.” She winked at Watson before leaving the room. 

Kalpenn laughed. “Seems like my young niece has developed a crush on you. I must say that I commend her good taste.”

Watson blushed. “You flatter me, doctor. But she is a fine young lady who will break many hearts as she grows up, I don’t doubt that.”

Kalpenn’s expression turned serious as he turned toward Holmes. “I suppose that you wonder about our difference in nationality. A valid question. It is true. Dawn was born in Russia and I am of Hindi origin. She is not biologically my niece. At least not yet, anyway. She is my fiancées’ niece, actually. She lost her parents when she was young, just like me, actually. Her mother was American but moved to Russia to be with her husband, who was a soldier on leave in America when they met. Her mother’s sister had legally adopted her. And I am engaged to her Aunt Samantha. So, it is close enough by association to say that I am her uncle. I love her like she was my own daughter. I’m so proud of her. She was accepted to Princeton. She’ll be leaving next September for college and after that, medical school. Can you believe that she says that I inspired her to want to become a doctor?”

Watson smiled. “You set a good example for her. What’s so hard to believe, Dr. Kalpenn?”

Kalpenn shook his head. “Please, let’s dispense with formality. I would be honored if you called me by my first name. Please call me Rentuk.”

Watson nodded. “And you could call me James.”

Holmes felt uncomfortable with any type of friendly gesture. “Everyone calls me Holmes. Please, let’s not waste time here, gentlemen. We need to know what’s going on with the administration at Junefield. They pose an obvious danger to all of us.”

Kalpenn took a sip of wine. “Couldn’t agree more. It’s all a very complicated set of circumstances that Samantha and I were forced into.”

Watson looked at the young doctor. “Rentuk, whatever you tell us will be taken in full confidence. Your secrecy will be protected.”

Kalpenn sighed. “Too much knowledge can be a dangerous thing, gentlemen. I can tell you enough of what I know to help you along with your quest. I wish I could do more.”

Holmes looked directly at Kalpenn. “You have my word as a gentleman, doctor. Talk to us so that we can help you.”

Kalpenn sighed. “It’s too painful to go back through the whole set of circumstances that led to our demise. However, to save time, I could begin with where you first entered. You were called to review this case by a very corrupt family. They did not start out that way. At least not the grandfather, anyway. He was a good, honest man who unfortunately died too young for me to get to know him better. Everyone else, with the exception of Abigail, of course, you need to be wary of. I know that my non-specific nature could be annoying, but if you are successful in solving this mystery, all of your questions will be answered, I assure you. The Robesons have several items of blackmail which bind Samantha and myself to their service. The stakes are too great to turn back now. Nor can I be any more specific right now, for the same reason that I just stated. The stakes are too great--even for honorable men like you to know.”

Watson sipped his wine slowly. “So what can you comfortably tell us?”

Kalpenn sighed slowly. “When we first met, it was at the gentleman’s club, soon after I was commissioned to sign a death certificate. Young Christian was with you so I had to put on an air of arrogance, for your protection and Miss Abigail’s as well. Mr. Holmes, your observations were correct. I don’t care anymore about losing my license. That does not matter to me at this point. James, when you had questioned me, I am ashamed to say that I could not tell you that I signed a death certificate for a patient that I had never examined.”

Watson could not even speak, so Holmes asked the question. “But why, Rentuk, why did you do it?”

Kalpenn paused before speaking. “As I said, Mr. Holmes, there are some items of blackmail at stake here. The first two items involve Samantha and myself. We discussed the matter carefully and were willing to come forward on our own in reference to those issues. However, the third item is untouchable, even too precious to discuss right now with you two fine gentlemen. So, what I did, I regrettably had to do. But once again, when you solve the mystery, all will be clear, I promise you. Indeed, what I know was revealed to me in confidence by Johnny Alomar, Alfie as we know him. He told me only because he was concerned for Abigail. He wanted me to take care of her in case something happened to him. He was afraid that the family was going to come after him. At first, I thought that maybe he was exaggerating. That was until Christian ordered me to procure a certain item for him, a book about ancient Egyptian mummification procedures. Then I put it all together. Alfie was right about everything. He was not crazy. I signed his commitment papers because I was forced to do so. Even then, I did so with extreme regret. I can tell you this, though: The Robesons are very evil, James. You and Mr. Holmes need to stop them.”

Holmes stared at Kalpenn and scratched his head. “But what exactly did they do?”

Kalpenn smiled sadly. “Put the clues together and you will have the answers. I’ll give you a head start.” He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out an oblong-shaped cardboard box. “That’s two clues right there. In addition to this, think about what I warned you about at the club. That’s another clue.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “You mean your warning about watching out for ravens?”

Kalpenn slowly nodded. “That and the item in this box. Altogether three clues. More will be coming. Open the box.”

Watson cautiously opened the box. In it was a gold ladybug-shaped cuff link. “A cuff link?”

Kalpenn looked up and made eye contact with Watson. “Note the shape and color, James.” 

Holmes spoke for Watson. “Well noted, Doctor. Any other clues you wish to share?”

Kalpenn took a final sip of his glass of wine. “Yes, one more. Notice the brand and quality of wine that we’re drinking.” He got up and retrieved the bottle from the bar. He put it down in front of Holmes and Watson.

Holmes read the label. “Amontillado?” 

Watson just shook his head. “I just don’t get it.”

Kalpenn looked at him seriously. “But you will, very soon.”

Holmes pushed aside his drink and spoke to the young doctor. “Okay, Dr. Kalpenn, you’ve given us clues about what you could not tell us. So, let’s talk about things that you could tell us. Such as those disturbing people who work at Junefield. What do you know about them?”

“Ritter, old Nurse Ludden and Administrator Topole work for the same person who is empowering the Robesons. I really don’t know who that mysterious person is, but I can sense that whoever he is, he is very dangerous.”

Watson quickly took the opportunity to ask a question that seriously concerned him. “Rentuk, could you tell us what you know about Nurse Victoria Amberling and the accusations made against her by old Nurse Ludden?”

Kalpenn shook his head. “Bits and pieces, but I’ll tell you what I know. She was an exemplary nurse. One of the best that I’ve ever met. When she was younger, she was sent to Junefield for a psychiatric internship. She was doing well for a very long time-moving up the ranks quickly. She was better and smarter than every other nurse, including Old Lady Ludden for that matter. However, in time, Ritter made unwarranted advances towards her, which in turn, she rejected. Soon after that, the drug conviction came out. Nurse Ludden testified to seeing her stealing the drugs and she was arrested. Victoria refused to say anything to defend herself and she waived the right to legal counsel. She came within a hair’s breadth of being convicted. However, the kindly grandfather Robeson happened to be a friend of her father. He took an interest in employing her and was paroled into the care of the old man. That’s all that I know.”

They were all silent for a while. Holmes was the first to break the silence. “Rentuk, is there some particular reason why you brought us here to this particular location?”

Kalpenn laughed heartily. “Several reasons, actually. Number one: the key to the reason why I cannot tell you more is right here, actually. All will be clear in time, as I said, trust me. Secondly, I find myself in need of some closure at this point in my life. I just felt like reminiscing about certain things which I wish to share with some good friends. It was at this very table that I proposed to Samantha. We were going to get married at this banquet hall. We had even set a date. The owner of the club gave us a good deal. He even gave Dawn a job here, so that she would be able to save a few extra dollars for her college tuition next year. So many happy memories here, gentlemen. I hope that someday, in some way, it will come back to us all full circle.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “Rentuk, I noticed that you spoke about your proposal and marriage plans to Samantha in the past tense. You used the words ’were’ and ’had.’ Has something bad happened to her?”

Kalpenn swallowed hard. A tear came to his eye. He took a breath before speaking. “No, gentlemen, we are still and will always be very much in love. I give myself as the final piece to the puzzle. I need to say goodbye. That is why I am here with you now.”

Watson looked at him not able to understand. “Good-bye? Rentuk, are you going somewhere? I thought you were saying that you were going to help us solve this mystery. How can you do that if you’re leaving us? Where are you going?” 

Kalpenn sighed sadly. “But I am helping you solve the mystery. My leaving you is part of the solution. Trust me. It was an honor and a privilege, gentlemen.” He shook their hands and gave both of them a quick squeeze. “Dawn and I need to go home now. Samantha will get worried. Goodbye, my friends.” Before either of the detectives could say a word, he was gone. 

They sat in silence for a long time, trying to contemplate what had just transpired. As they looked out the window, a flock of seagulls came down on the gateway near the water.

They saw the shadows of the young girl and her kindly uncle. For the moment, they had abandoned all cares and were on their way to somewhere safe. They were going home. Home…what exactly was home to Sherlock Holmes? A disorganized room filled with textbooks, telescopes and tinctures. He said nothing, but a certain coldness had enveloped him. What would happen when he solved this mystery and the one after that and the very last one for that matter? Would there ever be a home and a family waiting at home for him?

Holmes sighed. “He is a lucky man, Watson. I hope that some day he can find some type of happiness.”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair. “Holmes, that man and his family are in a great deal of trouble, perhaps more than they are able to comprehend. They need our help.”

Holmes sighed. “That man thinks the way that I do, Watson. He is aware of danger, but does not react to it. He does not show fear. He gave us what he felt that we needed to help him. We must trust his judgment.”

Watson shook his head. “He needs to put on a show of bravery to protect his family, but it doesn’t mean that he is not scared, nor does it mean that he fully understands what’s out there and that he’s capable of protecting himself against it. I think that we should leave here now and follow them at a safe distance.”

Holmes smiled. “Your good and trusting nature does not see the full scope of this issue, Watson. Dr. Kalpenn and myself, perhaps, understand it better than you do. As we speak, my brain is putting together the clues, Watson. A man like Rentuk Kalpenn, who is capable of constructing this scenario for us, is more than able to take care of himself. Trust me on this one, Watson.”

Watson wanted to say much, but was not able to dispute anything that Holmes had just said. “Very well. I suppose that we should be getting back to the estate.”


	19. Chapter 19

“You’re late. Suppers getting cold. Wash up and come down here.” Olivia’s monotonous voice greeted them at the doorway. “Oh and take off those dusty shoes. My lady does not want her floor stained with street dirt!”

Holmes and Watson obeyed, removing their coats and their shoes, and Olivia left the room. She disappeared into the parlor, in which whispered voices were heard. 

Watson sighed. “There is something strange going on here, Holmes. Something just feels out of place.”

Holmes raised his eyebrows. “Aye, old chap. Something is definitely amiss.”

As they walked up the stairs, they nearly bumped into Abigail, who was on her way to the water closet. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but my condition…well, you know.”

Holmes smiled. “Please, my dear. It is we who should apologize. We will be in our room if you need us.”

They opened the door to their room. Holmes closed the door behind them. Watson collapsed on his bed. Holmes, however, restlessly puttered about the room, appearing to be looking for something.

Watson looked up at his friend, annoyed. “For goodness sake’s, Holmes, why can’t you just settle down and rest like a normal person, after a hard day of travel.” 

Holmes looked around distracted. “Alfie’s clue--Most nails rusty. Four nails not. This room, Watson. But I can’t find a single bloody nail here!”

Watson sighed and put on a sarcastic tone of voice. “At the rate that we’re going, we’ll be needing them all for my coffin!”

Holmes didn’t laugh. He just stared straight ahead, deep in thought. 

A moment later, their door opened unceremoniously and Olivia came into their room uninvited. “My lady asked me to come upstairs and remind you about dinner. If you wish to eat, come down now. The kitchen will close in one hour’s time.” 

Holmes sighed and tried to be cordial. “Thank you, Madam. We will avert such catastrophe by coming by and by.”

Olivia left without bowing or closing the door.

Watson got up slowly. “I’m telling you, Holmes, there is definitely something wrong with that woman.”

Holmes scratched his beard. “She is certainly going out of her way to force us into believing so. Let’s go downstairs. The family awaits.” 

As they left their room, they nearly collided with young Abigail. Holmes sidestepped to avoid her. “Excuse me, Miss Abigail. Miss Olivia--”

Abigail gently put her hand on Holmes’ and put her fingers to her lips to ask for silence. When she spoke, she nearly whispered. “Please, Mr. Holmes. I need for you and Dr. Watson to see something. Any repercussions from downstairs, I will take responsibility. Please come with me.”

She led the way into a large room down the hall, which was filled with all types of artistry: sculpture, modeling clay, paintings, plaster, wax, different color paints, everything that an artist would need for a career in the fine arts. 

Holmes was the first to speak, as Watson looked on in surprise. “Miss Abigail, I gathered that you were artistically talented, but to this extent is nothing less than pure genius.”

Watson nodded. “Quite.”

Abigail blushed. “With the pregnancy and all, I could not do as much as I used to. However, one of my later projects might be of interest to you. Christian told me of a benefactor who had commissioned a wax statue of my father Roland. It was to have a brick background." 

“And who was this benefactor?” Holmes asked curiously.

Abigail shook her head. “They never spoke of him openly. All I know that he is very rich.”

Holmes continued where she left off. “And no doubt very powerful.”

Watson sighed. “History would tell you that such a combination does not always prove to be for the better.”

Holmes continued on a different note. “Tell me something, Miss Abigail. Considering your present condition, while the statue was being built, who was it who helped you with all of the heavy lifting of paints, clay and other materials?”

Abigail answered without hesitation. “Oh, it was Ericsohn, the carriage master. You know, Mr. Holmes, even though he sometimes comes across as impatient, he can be really helpful sometimes.”

Watson whispered to Holmes. “That would explain the wax remnants on Ericsohn’s boots.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “Or would assume to.” He turned to Abigail. “Tell me, Miss Abigail, what exactly became of the statue that you made?”

She bit her nails and looked sad. “It was most sad, actually. The statue was stolen. Calinda sent me out to go shopping with Victoria. All I know is that when we come home, the statue was gone--no trace of it ever being there. And the most crazy part of it was when it happened. It was on the day before Dad died. It was just beyond all--” She broke into tears. “Now there’s just nothing left--”

Holmes gently brushed the tears from her eyes. “Listen carefully, Abigail. There is someone out there who cares for you. We spoke to Alfie. He loves you.”

Watson put his hand on his friends’ arm. “Holmes, really, this is too much for her to bear..”

Abigail took a step closer to the two men. “Although the family never told me, I think that I understood. They sent him away somewhere. That much I did gather. They believe that he is sick. When I questioned them openly about this whole affair, they said that it was my fault. That I…that I…had driven him to where he is now. It must have been something that I did. I drove him to this. I hate myself!”

Holmes shook his head, for the first time unable to speak. He turned helplessly to his friend, asking him to intervene, without saying a word.

Watson scratched his head, and then took Abigail by the arm and brought her to the studio window. “Miss Abigail, there are some things that are better for you and for your baby that you do not know in full detail. However, I will say something to you that I cannot emphasize enough. None of this is your fault. You need to believe that. My friend and I are doing everything that we can to bring him home to you. Please believe us.”

Abigail turned to face them both. “And where exactly is home? Will things go back to where they were, even after Alfie comes back? When you and Mr. Holmes go home, Alfie and I will have to live here among those scavengers downstairs as though nothing ever happened.”

Holmes ran his fingers through his hair. “Miss Abigail, I can say with all honesty that things will not be the way that they were when Dr. Watson and I go back to England.”

Watson nodded. “Indeed. Even if all comes to naught, we will take you and Alfie with us to insure your safety.”

Holmes tentatively put his arm around her, although he was clearly uncomfortable. “No harm will come to either of you. Justice will prevail. Trust us.”

She embraced them both. “Thank you.”

Watson gently removed his hand. “Come now. Let’s go downstairs. You need to keep yourself healthy. Remember, you’re eating for two. Alfie would want you to take care. You know that.”

Holmes just nodded. “Quite.” 

********

At the dinner table, all sat in silence. The arrangement was similar to that morning. Everyone sat in the same chairs and pretty much did the same things. With two exceptions: Luke Robeson and Victoria Amberling were missing.

Holmes noticed the empty chairs at the table. “I gather that Master Luke is not feeling well.”

Christian sighed impatiently. “Uncle has this thing about not coming out to dinner unless Nurse Victoria is here to spoon-feed him. I think that she’s bringing him up wrong, if you ask me. He’s grown too dependent on her. I don’t know-Maybe she wants it that way. It’s a darn good way for a ne’er do well such as herself to worm her way into a prosperous household.”

Abigail’s face reddened. “I think that Nurse Victoria has done an outstanding job in caring for Uncle. Christian, your cynicism does not become you.”

Christian shrugged, but did not pursue the matter further. An awkward silence followed. 

Watson decided to catiously broach the issue. “So where exactly is the good Nurse Victoria?”

Calinda, who sat at the head of the table, commented without a trace of concern. “That girl comes and goes at this time every week. She never tells us where she’s going. Definitely hiding something, if you ask me.”

Christian continued reading his newspaper. “If you ask me, Calinda, we should just fire her. She asks too much money to be here. Grandfather is long gone. Besides, there’s nothing that she does for uncle that your mother can’t do for far less money. If it wasn’t for Grandpa, she would have been in jail anyway, where she rightly belongs.” 

Calinda got up from the table and gave Christian a terrorizing stare. “You leave my mother out of this! She has a job already in which she is quite happy.”

Watson got up and addressed young Robeson as well. “I likewise take offense, Mr. Robeson. Who are you to make a determination of Miss Victoria’s guilt? For whatever she had done or hadn’t done, she has not been convicted.”

Calinda wrinkled her brow. “As much as I thoroughly disagree with my stepson’s comments about my mother, I must say that there is something definitely strange about Victoria. Mrs. Ederly, my best friend, has a maid. Her son does part time work at the rail yards. Would you believe that he says that he often sees Victoria at the rail yards? Now whatever would she be doing there? To compound suspicion, I asked about the tragic day in which the package was lost. That was one of those days in which Victoria was seen at the rail yards.”

Watson quickly responded. “As were many people there at the rail yards on that tragic day. That has proven nothing.”

Holmes gently put his hand on his friend’s arm. “In and of itself, it may very well mean nothing. But put together with other items--”

Watson continued unrelentlessly. “Items of what, Holmes? You yourself mention quality over quantity.”

Holmes just nodded. For once, it was Watson’s logic that was impeccable.

A moment later, Olivia entered the room unenthusiastically. She addressed only Calinda and ignored everybody else, as usual. “Her Majesty has returned to us, my lady.”

Victoria entered the room as Olivia exited, each giving the other an odd stare. 

Young Victoria was holding bags of groceries. She entered the room and gave everyone a quick nod. “Sorry that I’m late. The coach traffic was ghastly. I’ll be back. I just have to put these packages in the kitchen.” She left quickly to do so.

Calinda leaned over to Holmes. “See what I mean, Mr. Holmes. We have a grocery store just around the corner. She chooses to go shopping who knows where. It must be far, if she has to take a coach to get back.”

Christian slowly nodded. “And she was lying about the coach traffic. I saw Ericsohn outside five minutes ago and he was commenting about what good time he had made running the horses half way cross town. That in itself tells us that she’s lying.”

Abigail came to her defense. “Or it means that she’s not telling you everything that you want to know about her comings and goings. Pardon my language, but both of you need to get over yourselves. The good lady does have a right to have a life outside of this place.”

Christian laughed. “Good point, Abbey. Maybe she’s afraid of turning into--”

Before he could finish the sentence, Olivia came into the dining area and bowed to Calinda respectfully--once again not noticing anybody else in the room. “My lady, I have explained to Miss Victoria in no uncertain terms that the kitchen will definitely close in exactly forty-six minutes.”

Christian laughed quietly and mumbled the words to Calinda: “Case in point.”

Calinda kicked his knee under the table none too gently and Christian shut his mouth. She turned to Olivia.

“That will be fine, Olivia. Thank you. You may sit down to dinner.” Olivia bowed respectfully and took her place at the table, right next to her lady. 

Victoria quickly came in. She took the empty seat next to Watson. She gave him a quick smile, to which he responded eagerly, “It is nice to see you again, Miss Victoria. I hope that we will have some time to talk later, after dinner.”

She tilted her head toward him. “I very much look forward to doing so.”

Calinda focused her eyes on the ceiling, took a sip of wine and then turned to Victoria. “My dear, may I remind you that there is a certain disabled man whom you were hired to care for, who refuses to come to dinner until you return home? Or have you forgotten?”

Victoria’s face reddened. “Oh, my gosh! I must have lost track of time.”

Christian shook his head bitterly. “Yes, and perhaps we will lose track of money as well when it comes time to pay you.”

Abigail once again came to her defense. “Christian, don’t be petty.”

Victoria quickly got up from the table. “Excuse me, I must tend to Mr. Luke. I’m sorry. I will be right back.”

However, she did not have to go up to retrieve Luke. He quickly came down. His hair was messy. His clothing was disorganized and dirty. He stumbled down the stairs and into Victoria’s arms.

“Luke! Luke! What’s wrong? Calm down, I’m here for you.”

Luke pointed up and down, frantically making signs with his fingers. Holmes and Watson observed him carefully.

Victoria turned to the family. “I’ve never seen him so shaken up like this.” 

Holmes looked into his eyes. “He is trying to tell us something.”

Watson guided Luke to the sofa. “Give him some air. Victoria, he seems to be dehydrated. Get him some water!”

Victoria was just going to go to the kitchen, when Holmes lightly put his hand on hers. “I don’t think that his concern is of a physical nature. Indeed, he seems distressed. Maybe he can’t answer ‘what,’ but he can answer ‘where.’”

Victoria nodded to Holmes and then sat on the sofa besides Luke. The disabled older man was now rocking back and forth, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Victoria took his hand reassuringly. “Luke, Luke, I’m here for you. Is there something that you would like to show us?”

The wild-eyed man showed some signs of calming down; he pointed upwards and then said one word: “Up.”

Victoria slowly nodded. “He’s pointing upstairs. He wants to show us something upstairs, no doubt. Luke, what do you wish to show us?”

Quickly he bolted from the sofa and ran up the stairs like a wild animal. Everyone else followed closely behind. The frantic man stopped at a door, in the middle of the upstairs room structure.

Victoria looked confused. “That’s my room. I don’t understand.”

They all quickly understood, as a short draft of smoke came out from under the door. 

Holmes quickly picked up on it. “Smoke! Where there’s smoke, there’s--”

Watson picked up, where Holmes had left off. “Fire.”

Victoria turned to them, wide-eyed. “Mr. Holmes, I keep my door locked whenever I go anywhere. Also, nothing that I keep in that room should be to any extent flammable.”

Christian pushed her out of the way. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that!” He rammed the door in and broke it down.

“Of all the nerve!” Victoria yelled. 

Calinda was the first to enter Victoria’s room. The others quickly followed. Holmes found the source of the flame. It was in a little closet that was kept off to the side.

“Watson, quickly! A blanket…I need it now!”

Watson quickly grabbed the blanket off of Victoria’s bed and threw it to Holmes. Holmes quicked smothered the small fire.

Watson opened a window to let a breath of fresh air into the room. 

All eyes turned toward Victoria. “I just don’t know how that happened. I swear.” 

Holmes carefully looked over the little shreds of embers and the small pile of items in the closet. Watson stood by his side. “Hmm..circus make-up. Blackish brown, wrapping cloth..alcohol.” Holmes looked at the bottom of his shoe and sighed, unpleasantly. 

“Wax.” 

Victoria quickly wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know how any of this got here. I have no use for any of those items.”

Watson took her side. “Surely, Holmes, somebody could have planted them here. “ 

Christian shook his head with disbelief. “Through a locked door. Not very likely.”

Calinda nodded. “Certainly not through the window. It is too narrow for even the smallest child to crawl through.”

Holmes walked toward the window, took out his magnifying glass and sighed. “Indeed.”

Watson paced the floor red-faced. “Holmes, certainly you’re not possibly thinking--”

Victoria looked confused. She turned to Watson. “What’s going on here, James?”

Watson looked at her seriously. “An elaborate framed setup. That’s what it is. Holmes?”

Holmes stroked his beard thoughtfully, ignoring Watson and everybody else in the room, thoroughly in the moment, completely focused on the investigation. He slowly turned to Victoria. “Miss Victoria, would you be so kind as to remove one shoe, please?”

She looked at Watson, who stood between her and Holmes. “Holmes, I know where you’re going with this and--”

Holmes sighed and paced the room. He very slowly turned back and shook his head. “We all need to sit down and talk. I believe that I’ve unraveled a significant portion of this mystery.”


	20. Chapter 20

The events that turned about in the next two hours moved very quickly. Holmes explained his logic, which seemed to be indisputable. Christian and Calinda saw to it that the officers were summoned at once. 

They were all too efficient. Holmes and Watson walked on either side of Victoria Amberling, who was now led away in handcuffs. Officers were on either side of the group. Abigail trailed behind. She insisted on accompanying the group.

At a large conference room at police headquarters, the group sat silently at a large rectangular table. Inspector Traub sat at the head of the table and listened carefully to Holmes. He lit his pipe and faced the group.

“This set of circumstances is quite unusual, Inspector, in that everything seems too easy. It’s all too bloody straight forward. The degree of intelligence to put together this operation would be of far greater intellect than to leave incendiary materials in which a fire could be started.”

Traub reviewed the facts, as they were outlined to him. “However, the facts do show that the incendiary materials were found in Miss Amberling’s room. Her door was locked. The rest of the family was downstairs all day--that is of course, everyone in the family who would have access to her room to plant bogus evidence.”

Abigail pointed a finger. “With the exception of Uncle Lucas, inspector.”

Watson answered Abigail. “But the folly of the whole thing? The man is mentally disabled. He would not be given access, nor would he know how to use a key to his own room, let all open the door to someone else’s room. Victoria, please, could you say anything to explain how this all happened?”

Victoria sighed. “My testimony is the same as what I have said earlier. When questioned about my relationship with the late Roland Robeson, I have told you that he had sexually abused me, constantly. I put up with it for the sake of the oath of loyalty that I had sworn to his father, to take care of Lucas. Roland Robeson was a lying, cheating, opportunistic bastard, who did very much deserve his fate. However, although I am glad that he is dead, I can tell you honestly that I have done nothing to cause his demise. As far as the convicting evidence, as you refer to it, I do not know how it wound up in my room. Nobody has a copy of my key that I know of. I am innocent of the crime that you accuse me of. That’s all that I can say.” 

Traub stood up and walked over to Victoria. “Miss Amberling, you have so far said nothing of adequate significance to defend yourself. You refuse to provide a reason for your frequent visits to the freight yard, which was a pivotal location in the commission of the crime. Mr. Holmes, please continue.”

Holmes got up once again and walked toward the window. He turned around, as if in deep thought. “Here’s what the evidence says: The body that was alleged to be put into the steamer trunk, was most likely not stowed there in the first place. The evidence of a certain type of melted wax at the scene of the crime, which incidentally had now changed to the freight car in question, was all too obvious. According to Miss Abigail, she was commissioned to use her artistic talents to create a wax facsimile statue to resemble the late Roland Robeson, to be displayed in the public square. The statue was ordered to have a brick underlay, which Miss Abigail had attested to. It seemed to be more than coincidence, however, that the statue in question was abducted on the same day as Mr. Robeson’s most untimely death. The fact that there was a body in the first place, I have no doubt. Our suspect’s family would gain nothing in fictionalizing such, if it did not exist. 

“However, the body was never loaded onto the train nor was it put into the steamer trunk in the first place. The wax replica was put into the trunk instead. In addition is the presence of the necklace-shaped key that was found in Miss Amberling’s room that could open the steamer trunk box, which was sent to the colonies. An exact replica of the box was sent to me by the suspect to these very headquarters. Sad to say, the lock in question well fits the box in question. So, to go from there to here, the question of what happened in between is crucial.

“The evidence contends that a strange hobo wrapped in cloth, with black markings on his hands and face, came into the train to help out with the daily cleaning. The supervisor in charge, not anticipating anything peculiar, followed procedure and let the hobo into the car to do his work. He passed the search due to the fact that he was carrying nothing aside from the necklace that he was wearing. However, nobody was to know that the necklace was the key. Therefore, assuming the wax statue of the body was there, our hobo, when alone, just needed to simply use a blow torch to melt the wax.”

Watson shook his head. “Holmes, that is ridiculous. We met the supervisor and he assured us that he and his staff performed inspections of each hobo going in and out of the cars. Therefore, where would our vagrant hobo possibly hide a blow torch?”

Holmes sighed. “The replica of the box that was examined in detail revealed a compartment box in the trunk, which was located just below the main compartment. The size of the compartment was just large enough to stow a small blow torch.”

Traub continued. “And the presence of the blow torch, the cloth and the black colored paints in Miss Victoria’s room, in addition to the size of her shoes and of the wax foot prints, is all but enough to, at the very least, hold Nurse Amberling as a suspect.”

Abigail got up. Her face reddened, as she felt a little twinge in her belly. “Surely, you don’t believe that she would even conceive such a--damn, I can’t even think it!”

Watson slowly helped Abigail back to her seat. “I agree, Inspector. I don’t know how and why, but it just can’t be. Holmes, would you get off your bloody perch and do something, damn you?!”

Holmes put a comforting arm around his friend. “The evidence, old chap. Unquestionably, she had motive, means and opportunity. According to colonial laws, the inspector does have enough evidence to hold her here. Unless she chooses to tell us about her reasons for her frequent visits to the freight yard.”

Victoria vigorously shook her head. “No, I have no obligation to reveal that information. I will once again tell you that my business at the freight yards had absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Robeson’s well-deserved fate. That’s all that I have to say.”

Traub threw his arms up in the air and looked toward the ceiling. “This type of thing goes beyond leniency. With all that has transpired, in addition to that drug possession charge, from which till this day you had not been cleared, we will need to indict you.”

Watson and Abigail got up at the same time to protest. 

Holmes tried to comfort them. “I will see to it that she is given all the benefits of this colonial state’s system of due process. She will be given sound legal representation.”

This was a moment of silence. Traub called a sergeant into the room to take Nurse Amberling into custody. Victoria and Abigail shared one final hug. Abigail assured the prisoner that she would be there every day to visit her. Watson took her hand, gave her a hug and whispered something quietly in her ear. A tear came to her eye, which he lightly wiped away.

Slowly, the sergeant escorted Victoria out of the room.

There was a moment in which nobody spoke, filled with deep contemplation. Watson was the first to speak.

“So, what bloody thing do we do now, Inspector Traub? Do we check your president’s underwear drawer for Mr. Roosevelt’s missing war sword? I swear this is all a bloody witch hunt!”

Traub responded simply. “Dr. Watson, I agree with you that some of what you see and hear in this room may not seem to make any sense to you. But all in all the system does work. You need to trust us.”

Watson didn’t reply, but Holmes did. “Indeed, Watson. The problem at hand is not being able to trust the good inspector. The people who need not be trusted are those of the Robeson family. Do you not remember Mr. Alomar’s sad fate? Therefore, it is logical to assume that Miss Victoria is safer here with the inspector than she would be if she was back at home with those bloody jackals. As is the case with Miss Abigail.”

Abigail turned around. “Excuse me?”

Holmes explained. “My dear, considering your condition and its’ vunerabilities, exposure to your family could pose incredible dangerous to both you and--and--your health.” He hesitated, wondering if she wanted Traub to know about her pregnancy. He continued. “In that vein, I suggest that you take up residence temporarily at a nearby inn. Are you in need of funds?”

She shook her head slowly. “Somehow, I anticipated that I would not be returning home. So I had the good sense to cash in some bank notes. Therefore, I’ll have enough money to sustain my needs, at least for awhile.”

Traub nodded. “My sergeant will guide you to the nearest inn.” He signaled for his sergeant to come in. He whispered some orders to him and then helped the lady to her feet.

In another moment, she had left, giving a pleading glance to Holmes to take care of her friend. 

The sargeant handed Traub a note before he left with Abigail. Traub sat down and sighed. He was quiet for a full two minutes.

“What is it, Inspector?” Watson asked.

The inspector ran his fingers through the little bit of thinning hair on his head. “It’s Doctor Rentuk Kalpenn. He’s dead.”


	21. Chapter 21

Dr. Kalpenn had a simple office in a somewhat upscale section of town. His office was located just north of Hazel Street in the busy market section of Perth Amboy. People were hustling about, back and forth, when the carriage bearing the three men pulled up. 

Inspector Traub was the first to dismount, followed by Holmes and then Watson. Traub wore a bowler hat and a stained overcoat. Holmes wore his usual plaid cape coat with his triangular hat. Watson just wore the same old wrinkled suit from five nights ago--thoroughly the image of worse for wear. 

Traub turned to Holmes. “There are some things that I just can’t but hate about this job, Mr. Holmes. This is on the top of the list, you know.”

Holmes nodded. “Quite.” 

Watson just followed along without saying anything. They approached a yellow boarder, which was guarded by a mustached police officer. He waved the crowd of passersby away. By now, the news was public. 

Mumbles in the crowd sounded to the effect of: “Oh, my dear, such a pity, he was so young.”

“I just saw him yesterday. He seemed to be in such good spirits.” 

“I never knew he was sick. Well, not like that anyway.”

Such were the comments that the three men heard as they approached the sergeant. 

“Sergeant.” The inspector nodded to his officer.

The sergeant bowed in respect. “Sir, I may have to call in for reinforcements. The news somehow spread faster than we could contain it. In this part of town, nobody hardly knows their next door neighbor, or where to find the corner church for that matter. But make no mistake about it, this man was well known and loved.” 

Traub sighed as he motioned his two associates beyond the yellow line. “Sergeant, these are my colleagues, Inspector Holmes and Doctor Watson. Please cooperate with them in letting them have whatever they need.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant nodded as he lifted up the tape. The three entered the empty building, which was appropriately dark. Holmes turned on the light switch and saw a very well maintained interior, recently painted. The architecture was beautiful. The top of the ceiling was large and curved. All ridges were trimmed down in fine detail. Serious money was needed to maintain a business in this building, no doubt.

Holmes turned to the inspector as they walked up the stairs. “Inspector, how long was Dr. Kalpenn a citizen here, would you know?”

Traub stopped and considered the answer. “You know, it was a strange thing. He went to school on an honor’s scholarship, but was only granted access here as long as he was a student. His family was dirt poor. I don’t know how he was able to afford the litigation for his citizenship legal papers, his medical license or the down payment on an office, especially not one in this part of town.”

Holmes nodded, as they resumed walking. “Indeed. So someone must have been helping him out.”

On that note, they reached the glass marble doorway, which was labeled with the inscription: ’Rentuk Kalpenn MD.’

Watson shook his head. “I’ve been practicing for the past twenty years. I’ve established a respectable living, but I still couldn’t afford anything close to this type of luxury.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “Let’s go in.” For a moment, the other two men held their breath and they followed Holmes in. Holmes turned on the light and at once started to look around, instantly processing and deducing all that was around him. The other two men were just getting past the doorway. 

Holmes looked at the incredibly neat arrangement of books in the corner--except for one that was obviously missing, which made the whole shelf look untidy. Holmes noticed and stored the information for future reference. 

Other than that, everything was in perfect order: Tongue depressors, scales, examining lights and instruments--all in precision and easy to find at a moment’s notice. Indeed, aside from the dead body, which lay helplessly on the examining table, all looked normal. 

Watson and Traub rushed to the body. Traub took out his notebook, while Watson did a preliminary examination. He took his time and made careful observation, taking notes, measurements, using different instruments. Holmes and Traub watched silently for a good five minutes while Watson completed his observations. 

Finally, he turned to the other two men. “Gunshot wound to the head. The angle of the bullet indicates that the wound was self-inflicted and neat. Suicide. There is no other explanation.”

Traub threw his hands up in the air. “But why, for goodness’ sake? That man had so much to live for. I just don’t understand!”

Holmes looked at a large picture frame that was carefully displayed on a shelf at eye level. The people in the picture were two females--one adult and one teenager. 

Holmes took the picture in hand and showed it to Traub and Watson. “Perhaps this will shed some light on the issue.”

Holmes and Watson recognized the young girl in the picture at once. She was Dawn, the young girl who they had met at the tavern earlier. The older lady, however, they did not know.

Traub looked at the picture curiously. “I never knew that Rentuk had a family. Wow, the man has done well for himself. Once again, it just emphasizes the folly of this whole horror.” 

Holmes and Watson exchanged a secret look. Watson opened his mouth to say something, but Holmes put his finger to his lips in a gesture of silence.

Traub looked at them suspiciously. “Is there something that you gentlemen know that you’re not telling me?”

Holmes sighed. “We have spoken with Dr. Kalpenn and there are some things that we are not at liberty right now to reveal.”

Traub’s eyes turned upward toward the ceiling. “So, then what can you tell me?”

Holmes looked at the face of the corpse. “The doctor had obviously felt a need to paint his face a color of bright red, before he shot himself. If you look carefully, Inspector, the red pigmentation on his face is paint, not blood.”

Traub still didn’t understand. “But why? This whole thing makes no sense!”

Holmes paced the room. He walked to the window, lit his pipe and slowly turned back towards his associates. “Maybe the pieces of the puzzle themselves are not meant to make sense as individual parts of a whole, but taken all together and assembled in the right way--”

Watson finished his sentence for him. “--could very well be the solution to this whole bloody mystery!”

Holmes just smiled in approval. Traub looked curiously at a letter on the table. “Perhaps this might be one of your pieces, Mr. Holmes. This letter is addressed to you.”

Holmes slowly examined the envelope in the light. Carefully, he opened the letter. It was an envelope within an envelope. The note on the second envelope, simply read: "Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes: Please convey the enclosed letter to Miss Samantha Walden, 110 Acorn Place. Plainsboro, New Jersey. She will convey to you what you need to know. Wish you well, regards to James. R.K.” 

Traub looked puzzled. “Seems to say very little, actually, as far as suicide notes are concerned.”

Holmes scratched his beard. “On the contrary, Inspector. This note, which we will hand deliver personally, no doubt will lead us directly where we need to go. Come now, gentlemen!”

He was out the door, before they could say a single word. Traub turned to Watson. “Does he always do that?”

Watson laughed. “No, he actually slowed down in his declining years!”

Traub just sighed as he slowly followed Watson out of the doorway.


	22. Chapter 22

‘Samantha Walden JD, Assistant District Attorney.’ The New Jersey State Office Building was located not very far from Princeton. Plainsboro was a town in South Jersey that was mostly urban upper class in nature. 

The floors were well waxed. All the men were walking about in tweed suits, ties and well-shined shoes. The women wore dresses made of expensive fabric and expensive shoes. 

The Office Of The Assistant District Attorney was extremely inaccessible to most people. Traub had to show his badge in order to be granted access. Even then, the group of three needed to be go through at least ten different people before being allowed to speak to the young DA. 

After an hour’s wait, a wavy-haired young intern, who was serving as secretary, ushered Traub into the DA’s office. He nodded to Holmes and Watson, inadvertently telling them to sit down and wait for the Inspector to finish speaking to his boss.

The young intern couldn’t help but stare at Holmes. He had long hair, was in his mid-twenties and wore an ID tag which was simply labeled ‘Eddie.’ 

Holmes found such behavior to be rude and annoying. “May I ask, good sir, as to why you’re staring at me?”

The young man stifled a short laugh, shook his head and just said, “That’s some bad hat, Harry.”

Holmes turned to the young man, removed his hat and annoyingly responded: “My name is not Harry, young man, and as far as my style of dress is concerned, you would do bloody well to mind your own business.”

The young man hurried away and got back to work. Watson motioned for his friend to sit down. “Calm down, Holmes. He’s just a lad.”

Holmes sighed. “Yes, and a stupid one at that. From stupid children come stupid adults.”

Watson remarked, “You know, he’s not much older than Dr. Kalpenn.”

Holmes bowed his head and pursed his lips. “The one difference, Watson, is that this young man will have the chance to mature.”

Watson shook his head. “Why do you think Rentuk took his own life, Holmes?”

Holmes paused before speaking. “There is method to madness, Watson. He was not the type to do anything without reason.”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair. “But how could an act that defies reason by its very definition be an act of reason?”

Holmes put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “That, old chap, is one mystery that I may never be able to solve.”

At that moment, the big door of the District Attorney’s Office opened. Traub walked out slowly. His skin was pale and he dragged his feet slowly. He turned around to face the shadow in the open doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, but just shook his head and walked away slowly.

The door remained open.

Traub turned to Holmes and Watson. “I have never felt so helpless.”

Holmes combed his hair with his hands, in an attempt to fix himself up. “Quite normal to feel that way under the circumstances, Inspector. Well, then, will she see us now?”

Traub slowly nodded. “Yes, she said that I should send you right in. Do you need me to wait here?”

Holmes turned toward him. “No, we can find our own way back to the estate. Tomorrow, we can meet at the station and compare the facts. And, Inspector, please do inquire about that matter that I discussed with you.”

Traub slowly nodded, in agreement. He shook their hands and warned them to be careful going home. He then turned the corner toward the elevator. 

Watson turned to Holmes, inquisitively. “What matter are you referring to, Holmes?”

Holmes whispered to Watson. “Never you mind now, old chap. By and by, you will understand. Come now, a young lady is waiting for us.”

Holmes and Watson slowly entered the large office. 

Shelves upon shelves of legal books lined the bookcases. The furniture was new. The carpeting was neat and woven with a flowered pattern. The ceilings were high. The delicate blue curtains were drawn and revealed a beautiful view of Philadelphia to the South and a very slight light to the North, which some had rumored to be the reflection of the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. 

The woman in the corner was dressed in black. Her hair was long and brown. She sensed their presence in the room and turned her head toward them. “Have a seat, gentlemen. Close the door behind you, please. Sit down and help yourselves to refreshments.”

After they closed the door, Holmes and Watson turned around and noticed a tray with paper cups and plates, a coffee pot and a box of donuts.

She slowly turned around and faced them. She was a beautiful woman, around the age of thirty, tall, perfect weight. She wore black high-button shoes. She gave the visitors an intense gaze. “Rentuk spoke highly of you. He said that you were honorable men.”

Watson spoke for them both. “Miss Walden, we are both so sorry for your loss.”

Holmes took up where his friend left off. “Words are not adequate for comfort. There is no easy way to grieve.”

They were all silent for a moment. 

Samantha was the first to speak. “You know, we never really wanted all of this.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “What specifically are you referring to, may I ask?”

She sat down in her chair and sighed. “All of this, Mr. Holmes; the money, the power, the prestige, it all means nothing at this moment. It all started out so innocently. Rentuk and I met at Princeton. He was on a scholarship visa. However, he would have had to go back to India after graduation. I came from a lower class family. Everyone in my family were blue collar workers, so it was like a dream come true to be accepted to Princeton. However, no matter how hard that I studied, my grades were just a little below average. I was in danger of not getting accepted to law school. 

“So, you could visualize Rentuk and I as being a fairly unlikely couple to meet and fall in love. Yet, it did happen, all those years ago. We met in Mr. Gray’s theater class. We were chosen to partner up as Romeo and Juliet. Tragic isn’t it, considering the current circumstances?”

Holmes took an analytical perspective. “It has been said that life imitates art.”

Watson jabbed Holmes with his arm. “How can you be so insensitive? We are not looking at a bloody picture!” 

Holmes sighed. “We are looking at the greatest unfinished painting of all time--the tapestry of life at its most crucial points. Please continue, Miss Walden.” Holmes poured himself a cup of coffee and Watson reached for a donut.

Samantha looked up. “We made all these plans, you know. We’d spend hours dreaming about how we’d build a home together, somehow establish ourselves career wise, and have at least a dozen kids. We were young and foolish. It was at that point in time that we met Mr. Christian Robeson--a fellow Princeton student. Not very academic-minded, but his grandfather was a well known alumnus, so Christian was automatically accepted. He was a rich kid who spared no expense to show off that fact. Fancy clothes, a house fit for a king. He had us over on the weekends. We were waited on hand and foot. You could imagine how two poor kids in love would respond to being fawned and fussed over. 

“It was then that we made the big mistake of trusting this young man. We shared our dreams with him. We thought that he would laugh. Instead, he pondered what we had said quite seriously. He said that all would be taken care of. Well, we thought that he was joking. 

“But the next week, when we visited the house, he had passports and visas and paperwork ready for Rentuk, so that he would be able to stay here, attend medical school and practice here in the colonies. And for me, he just handed me a sealed envelope. I opened the letter. It was an acceptance letter to the University of Pennsylvania School of Law.

“Naturally, we said that we could not accept such generous gifts. He pressed the point and insisted, telling us to just remember this moment. We promised to pay him back when we were established. He smiled mischievously and told us that he did indeed expect us to pay him back someday, but money would not be an issue. 

“We did not know what he was talking about until he hired us, specifically as his family’s doctor and lawyer. Little did we know, at that time, how corrupt was the family that we had promised to serve. I was called upon to certify contracts, testify in court cases, put my seal on papers. Some of the material started out as being just questionable and a little over the top. Then, later, it involved things that were downright illegal, that I was contracted to defend.

“Rentuk had to prescribe medications to the family for ailments which nobody had. He was just told to write the prescriptions and not ask questions. Things just got worse. He was ordered to commit poor Mr. Alomar, our good friend Alfie, to that terrible psychiatric facility in Perth Amboy. And worst of all, he was ordered to sign a death certificate for a patient that he had never even examined. No questions asked, just a signature.”

Watson sat up and exclaimed, “But surely, as you became rich and successful, you could have gotten out from under their influence!”

Holmes answered the question for her. “I think that by that time, the stakes were far greater, Watson.”

Samantha continued. “Yes, you are so right. Something far more precious had come into our lives. Something that we could not part with. Her name is Dawn.”

Watson nodded. “Your niece. Yes, we have met her. A beautiful young lady.”

Samantha wiped a tear from her eye. “When Dawn came to live with us, there was nothing within our legal system that could have been done to insure her citizenship. She would have had to be deported to Russia, once her visitor’s visa had expired. We couldn’t bear to allow that to happen.

“So, once again, very reluctantly, we had to appeal to the Robeson family. Somehow, they did what I nor the greatest lawyers of our state, could not do. They were able to get Dawn certified as an American citizen. 

“So, from that time on, we were indebted to them. We could not defy them on any grounds, for fear that they would testify about Dawn’s Russian nationality. We could not bear to see her taken away from us.”

Holmes rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So, that is the secret that Rentuk was protecting. Your niece Dawn was the key.”

Watson sighed. “I don’t know why we didn’t figure this out sooner, Holmes. All the signs were right in front of us.”

Holmes looked up at his friend. “I was an idiot, Watson. I am grieved to admit that some motives go well beyond the practical, the financial and the powerful.”

Samantha got up from her desk, walked over to the window and turned toward them. “I was the one who should have seen this coming. He was acting strangely yesterday evening. When he came home with Dawn, he confided some details of your meeting with him in the café. I could not put the pieces together, but he possessed a certain sense of strange confidence that everything would be all right. I just didn’t get it. The last thing that he did this morning when he left home was give me a book that I should give to you. I did not understand his reason or the choice of book for that matter. He didn’t go into detail, but he made me promise that I give you this book.”

She reached into a side drawer and handed him a book. Holmes took the small book and opened it attentively. Watson looked over his shoulder.

Watson shook his head. “The Abridged Collection of Edgar Allan Poe? I just don’t get it, Holmes.”

Holmes said as he put the book into his briefcase, “We’re not in that mindset, Watson, but it does not mean that we cannot be made to understand. We need to consider the problem from all angles. The Robesons are, no doubt, involved in this somehow. You are their attorney, are you not, Miss Walden?”

She smiled at him sadly. “Which could be more of a handicap, as you may well know, Mr. Holmes. Anything mentioned in the realm of Attorney/Client Privilege is well out of our sphere.”

Holmes nodded. “I quite understand.”

Watson got up and paced around nervously. His face reddened and when he spoke, his voice had an angry tone to it. “Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves! A good person’s death could have been prevented had you bloody well used something called human emotion and just upchucked all your self-righteous moralistic legal rights of privilege. The whole bloody thing just makes me sick, I tell you!”

Holmes slowly put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “The system works, old man. If Attorney/Client privilege was done away with, the whole justice system would just fall flat on its face. I admit that in some instances, such as what we’re dealing with here, breech of such might have very well done more good than harm. But I believe that Miss Samantha here can explain the matter on a more humanistic level.”

She sighed, as she sat on the edge of her desk. “Doctor Watson, you are somewhat sheltered in your choice of profession, I suppose. You define saving a life as that of checking for vital signs, such as breathing, pulse and blood pressure. For some people, there is more to living than just being biologically alive. When Dawn came into our lives, we defined our lives by doing what was necessary to protect her. In some way that I do not yet understand, Rentuk gave his life to assure her protection. We need to trust his choice of action, whether we agree with it or not. You and Mr. Holmes are a great part of that endeavor.”

Watson sat down, a little bit calmer. “So, for this short time, until this bloody mess is cleared up, what has been done to make sure that Dawn is protected?”

Samantha’s tense expression, eased up. “During the time that I spoke with Inspector Traub, I explained her situation to him. He assured me that she would be in no danger of being deported; she would be in full police protection for the duration of this unsolved crime. He promised to petition Mayor Vogler for a student visa, which would later become permanent upon her graduation from college. By that time, she would probably be granted a residential status of permanent citizenship, if she keeps her grades up and is successful in her chosen profession. For now, the good inspector has consented to place her in a safe house, while the Robeson mystery is being investigated. She will be in no danger. Her whereabouts will be kept secret.” 

Watson sighed. “Well, at least that’s one less thing to worry about.”

Holmes nodded. “Quite. Now, what could we do to find the missing pieces to the Robeson affair? Is there anything that you could tell us, Miss Samantha?”

She took a file out of her desk. It was small, but filled with papers. She fingered the papers, but did not share any of the contents with her guests. Slowly, she looked up at them with a mischievous expression. “Most of our office files are locked up in a separate room, in which it takes the keys of two separate partners to unlock. We are very big on security here. However, as Dr. Watson aptly noted, the scales don’t always balance. Such knowledge motivated me to prepare a little private file on everything that I know about the Robesons-notes, news clippings, research information. Indeed, nobody who works here knows about the existence of this file. It contains nothing in and of itself that is incriminating. It is just a collection of facts that may or may not be able to be put together to reach certain conclusions. Strange predicament that such puts me in, however, when it comes to the question of whether such revelation to a third party would breech attorney/client privilege. However, we cannot debate such now. We must move quickly. The benefactor has spies everywhere, you know.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “The benefactor?”

Samantha put up her hands. “Beyond the scope of what could be discussed, Mr. Holmes. However, there is a way to protect all of us. Please don’t be offended by what I am about to do.”

She threw the file into the trash can under her desk. Holmes and Watson both opened their mouths in surprise. She put her finger to her lips to silence them. She then opened the door half way, just enough so that the people in the hall could hear what she was about to say. When she spoke, she shouted. “I’ve had it, I tell you! I’ve just had it! I want you both out of here in a half hour! I have work to do! Don’t even think of following me! Keep your distance or I’ll call the cops. You had the nerve to--I can’t even say it--I’ll give you a half hour to finish your drinks, out of respect for my fiancé, and then I want both of you out of here! Oh and--”

She picked up the trash can and put it on her desk. “Kindly clean up after yourselves. I don’t want to see even one crumb here, when I get back, to remind me of your sorry existence!” She went out, slamming the door forcefully.

Watson scratched his head, as the two men took in the baffling scene. “Holmes, why--”

Holmes put the facts together in two seconds and rummaged through the garbage quickly to retrieve the file. “She gave us the legal right to retrieve the records in the file, old chap. You see, when an item is thrown away, it is in the public domain. It is no longer her property. Therefore, any person could and would have the legal right to take it up for themselves.”

Watson smiled. “Brilliant! I would never of have thought of that.”

Holmes quickly found the small file and stuffed it into his briefcase. “Come, old boy, let us make a hasty exit.”

The two men quickly gathered their coats and left the office.


	23. Chapter 23

It was the middle of the night. Traub’s secretary had just put up a new pot of coffee. Holmes and Watson appeared exhausted, but not the least bit sleepy. They wore the same rumpled clothing from yesterday, but did not seem to care.

Traub took a sip from his cup. “I’m glad that you came to me with this file. You were right. It could not have waited until morning.” He thumbed through the pages, and shook his head and just sighed.

Watson scratched the back of his head as if remembering something. “Inspector, before we discuss the contents of the file, would you be so kind as to inform me of the matter that you and my friend were discussing earlier?”

Traub sighed and turned to Holmes, who just nodded slowly. Holmes was the first to speak. “I thought it better to proceed on the side of discretion, since you have exhibited a certain fondness for Miss Victoria Amberling. I have asked the good inspector here to contact our own Inspector Lestrade.”

“And do what?” Watson asked suspiciously.

Traub took up where Holmes left off. “To use his legal authority to do whatever was necessary to gain access to British estate that was leased under the name of Christian Robeson.”

“And then do what? Come on, out with it, man!” Watson demanded impatiently.

Holmes sighed. “To find the trunk that was stored in Mr. Robeson’s basement, corresponding to what he testified on the first day that we met him. Specifically, whether the secret panel with the blowtorch underneath corresponded in kind to the blowtorch that was found in Ms. Victoria’s room.”

Watson’s face reddened. “You still believe her to be guilty of this-Oh, I can’t even say it! It is so obvious that she was being set up! How can you not see it?”

Holmes put an arm on his friend’s shoulder. “Watson, old boy, you tend to overlook the fact that the ideal system of justice does not depend upon what we believe to be true. It goes according to the facts which have been proven to be true.”

Watson still was impatient. “And to what bloody conclusion is this reasoning heading towards, may I ask?”

Traub put his hand under his chin. “The blow torches in question were custom made. There were only three of them, which were made with the same pattern. One original and two replicas. It is safe to say that the original was the implement that was used to throw us off track at the freight yard. Our suspect probably used it to melt the wax and expose the brick surface. The second blowtorch was found in the duplicate case that was sent by the prankster. There was also a blowtorch in its secret compartment under the skeletal creature that we uncovered earlier. The second blowtorch matched the third blowtorch almost identically, according to serial number. Such was the apparatus that was found in Miss Amberling’s room. So, the only other thing that we needed to do to put the pieces together was to ascertain whether there was indeed a blowtorch in the box at the Robeson estate, and whether it matched the other two, according to make and serial number.”

Watson grew weary with the pause that followed. “And..?” 

Traub handed Watson three pieces of paper, two which were photographs. “As you can see, an exact match. I’m sorry, Dr. Watson.”

Watson threw down the papers furiously and then paced the room. “So, that means that you can’t release Victoria yet? She still needs to be held here against her will? You both know that she--”

Holmes held up his hand. “Is at the safest place where she could be, no doubt, at this moment. If your theory proves correct and she is being set up by the Robesons, she could not very well go back to them, now could she?”

Watson sat back down angrily, shaking his head. “How could something so wrong make such perfect sense?”

Holmes paused before speaking. “It is bloody well the type of world that we live in, Watson.“

Watson looked up at Traub. “Well, is she at least allowed to have visitors now?”

Traub nodded. “Certainly. You could see her right now, if you wish. Go out the door to the sergeant’s desk. He could take you downstairs to see her.”

Watson turned to his friend. “Holmes?”

Holmes just laughed. “Go on, old boy. I’ll fill you in later about what we discussed. “

Watson nodded to Traub. “Inspector?”

Traub looked up toward the ceiling. “Follow your heart, Doctor. That’s what we all do sooner or later, anyway.”

With a quick smile, Watson left the office.

Traub looked up at Holmes. “Poor love-sick kid. I remember when I was that way, young and idealistic.”

Holmes looked up at him impatiently. “Indeed, but the world does not cater to our whims, Inspector. Such is, after all, proven by the contents of the file, which we are here to discuss.”

Traub scratched his bald head. “So, let’s start with the files pertaining to Nurse Amberling. “ He shuffled through the papers quickly. “Victoria Amberling-- Nurse Practitioner- graduated top of her class. This is interesting. The record says that she was accepted to medical school, but turned down the opportunity at the last minute. Reasons are not listed.”

Holmes lit up his pipe. “Curious, not very many women are given such an opportunity. There must have been a substantial reason for her doing so. What is more mysterious is what happened afterward. She took a job at a psychiatric hospital, one of the worst in the city, by all accountable standards. She then got herself into trouble and almost indicted by the law for that matter, on the charge of stealing drugs. It just doesn’t bloody make sense, Inspector.”

Traub smiled mischievously. “Perhaps, we would do better to leave her interrogation to the subtle tactics of your Doctor Watson.”

Holmes snorted impatiently. “Such matters are quite inconsequential to me, inspector.”

Traub laughed. “So, what was her name, Mr. Holmes? Who was the one woman who had the power to break the heart of the great Sherlock Holmes?”

Holmes’ face reddened. “Indeed, a matter as inconsequential as the woman who left your left ring finger bare. Let’s agree to diverge to a different topic of discussion, shall we?”

Traub slowly nodded. “Point well taken. Getting back to the documents, as they pertain to Miss Amberling. As we know, Miss Amberling was rescued from incarceration by Grandpa Ian Robeson, an old friend of her father’s. What is also well known is that Ian had designated her to be the guardian of the mentally challenged Robeson brother, upon his death. “

Holmes took the folder himself and examined it. “However, what is not well known is that, according to the will, Luke Robeson is the main beneficiary of the Robeson fortune in the event of Ian’s death. And since Luke is mentally incapacitated, Victoria had been given power of attorney over the money to spend it on his behalf. “

Traub took up where Holmes had left off, examining the rest of the will for himself. “However, in the event that Miss Amberling should die or prove herself to be unfit, corrupt or untrustworthy in one way or another, the money is to be divided equally between his son Roland Robeson, Roland’s common-law wife Calinda Ludden, and his two grandchildren Christian and Abigail.”

Holmes blew a puff of smoke out of his pipe. “No doubt, motive for the Robeson family to get Victoria out of the way has been established. However, what we don’t have at this point is proof.”

Holmes handed the folder back to Traub. “I could not agree more. Diverging to another matter, it stands to reason that Roland and his family would not be able to maintain their standard of living as long as Victoria and Luke were alive. However, they had done quite well for a long time after Ian’s death. There had been mysterious contributions to an off-shore bank account in the name of Roland Robeson by a strange beneficiary by the name of Mortimer James. Do you know this person, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes’ face had paled at once and his eyes dropped to the floor. His muscles tensed. He took off his hat and put his hands through his hair nervously.

Traub looked concerned and poured Holmes a glass of water, which he drank eagerly. “Mr. Holmes, is everything okay? You seem to be upset over something.”

Holmes spoke slowly and deliberately. A bead of sweat poured down his forehead as he answered the inspector’s question. “There are some things that it is better that you do not know, Inspector.”

Traub glared angrily. “If you think that by keeping something from me--”

Holmes cut him off, somewhat abruptly. “I assure you, good sir, that anything that I do hold back from telling you would not affect your part in solving this mystery. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Inspector, I need to check on my friend downstairs. Please feel free to take whatever notes that you need from the folder that will help you in your endeavors. We will return by and by to retrieve the documentation.”

Traub shook his head angrily. “So, is that all, Mr. Holmes? A few facts, a big secret and a puzzle with more missing pieces than a slab of Swiss cheese? Is that all that we have here?”

Holmes sighed reluctantly. “I wish that were true, Inspector. If only--”

He did not finish his sentence. He just unceremoniously walked out the door and left Traub sitting, staring and wondering.


	24. Chapter 24

Doctor James Watson sat with Victoria Amberling in the dimly-lit visitor’s room. They were playing a round of poker. Victoria smiled mischievously. “I believe that we’re at a standoff, Dr. Watson. I don’t know whether to call your bluff. Ah, what the hell, you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Watson put out his hand to show her, sheepishly. Her eyes bulged as she threw her cards down. “Damn it to hell, James! I actually fell for that! I can’t believe that I let you fool me like that.”

Watson looked up. “I had nothing to play with, Victoria. If you had just stood your ground and played your hand out, you would have beaten me easily. You give up too easily.”

She turned her head uncomfortably. “Maybe sometimes, that’s all that can be done.”

He took her by the hand. “There are always options, Victoria. Please let me help you.”

A tear came down from her eye. “You just don’t understand, do you?”

He held her hand closer to him. “Well, then, you’ll just have to make me understand. What is it that you are so afraid of?”

She shook her head angrily. “I cannot and will not be led into this line of questioning, Doctor! If you want to share my company, kindly change the subject.”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair helplessly. “Then what is it that you want me to do? Please enlighten me!”

She gently took his hand and put it in hers. “What you were doing before was just fine, actually.”

He pulled away slightly. “Victoria…”

She drew closer to him. “Please, no words.” 

She reached over and kissed him on the lips gently. He shared the kiss, which gradually became more passionate.

It was at that moment that Holmes came down to retrieve his friend. The sergeant overlooking the visitor’s room nodded respectfully to Holmes. “Should I gently remind your friend of our rules about physical contact with prisoners?”

Holmes gently put his hand on the Sergeant’s wrist. “Give them their moment, Sergeant.”

The Sergeant sat back down and waited alongside of Sherlock Holmes. 

******** 

The sun was just starting to come up over the horizon. A pale and wrinkled shadow of a man in a deerstalker hat emerged slowly past the exit doors of the nearly empty police station. 

He felt alone, and for once did not enjoy the feeling. He wearily sat himself down on the bench next to the entrance, as he waited for his friend. 

A shadow emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. A bead of sweat came down from Holmes’ forehead. He cautiously got up off the bench and walked to the end of the street. If the figure was who he thought it would be, he did not want Watson involved. He walked briskly to the end of the corner. Holmes stopped as the shadow stopped short, just half a beat behind. He observed the reflection that the shadow had cast. It was unmistakable. Very well, he thought, if this was how it was to be, then let it be now. Enough damage was done already. 

Slowly, without hardly moving, he looked about him and noticed a crowbar sticking out of a door panel. Moving quickly and quietly, he disengaged the crowbar and let the door close without making a sound. He centered himself in a small enclosure in the darkness of an abandoned alleyway. The shadow moved closer inch by inch. In another moment, it would converge upon him. He was as ready as he would ever be. It started to turn the corner. Holmes crouched, ready to pounce. The shadow just turned the corner. 

“Holmes!” came the voice from the opposite side of the street. At once, the shadow ran the other way and disappeared. Holmes fell off balance and landed face first on the ground. 

He gasped for air. Watson’s footsteps were unmistakable. He turned his friend over and lifted him to his feet. 

“Whatever were you intending on doing? Have you gone completely mad? An hour ago, I leave you to talk to my lady friend and now I find you face down in an alleyway, looking like death warmed over. You know, Inspector Traub was worried sick when you left so abruptly. I thought he was exaggerating, not knowing you the way that I do. But when I see you like this, I know that he had due cause for concern.”

Holmes threw his hands up in the air and rested his head up against a brick wall. Watson guided his friend to a nearby bench, where they both sat down in silence. Watson was the first to speak. “So, are you going to tell me what this is all about, or need we take a little trip cross town to Junefield?”

Holmes shook his head sadly. “I did not wish to expose you to the uglier elements of this investigation. That is all.”

Watson’s face reddened. “And seeing you so perturbed like this is supposed to reassure me?!”

“Why should you care? You seemed to be doing well on your own without me, when I was observing your visit with the good lady Victoria.”

Watson laughed sarcastically. “Oh, no you don’t! I’m not going to fall into that trap again. You think that you can get me to argue with you about your little dalliance with Irene Adler, how you bloody well ignored me for that whole time, and how I had to be the one to pick up the pieces and dry you out after the fact. You want me to get all upset, so that I’ll walk away angry and disgusted. Then you can be alone to self-destruct. Well, guess what, it’s not going to work! You’re stuck with me! So, you might as well get used to it and tell me what has gotten you all buggered up like this.”

Holmes paused before speaking. “Quite. Well then, let us get up and about. There is one more lead that we need to follow.”

Watson snorted. “And what might that be?“

Holmes slowly nodded. “We take the next Hanson cab back to Robeson manor. There we will question the one person who we had never been given the opportunity to speak to.”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair. “We bloody well ran the gauntlet in questioning the whole creepy bunch.”

Holmes raised his index finger. “Not everyone, old chap. We have not yet questioned the least likely person in this whole scenario…someone who is well beyond suspicion because of his lack of all elements of comprehension of the whole bloody mystery. Yes, Watson, we have yet to question the retarded brother, Luke Robeson."


	25. Chapter 25

The carriage proceeded slowly down the street. Holmes and Watson silently reviewed the documents in the file. 

Watson was the first to speak. “Clinical Retardation, Holmes. Quite a pity. Had it been caught earlier, chances are that the young man could have been at least a little bit more functional and self-sufficient.”

Holmes sighed. “Apparently, the family’s wealthy father had given more attention to the older and smarter brother; a situation that I am not a stranger to.”

Watson scratched his head. “Even so, the younger brother is left with the inheritance. How odd that it was the older brother who had died so unexpectedly. What do you think, Holmes?”

Holmes nodded slowly. “They are no doubt hiding something that is very strange and extremely terrible. Our friend, Dr. Kalpenn, no doubt knew more than we did. However, he needed to protect his niece from those bloody scoundrels. That is why he could see no way out other than the path that he has chosen to take. There is something going on in that house, Watson. Something which you and I have yet to comprehend…”

The carriage master stopped in front of the estate. The sun was now fully up. Somehow the estate appeared to look more out of place in the dawn of a full sunlit day. It seemed to look out of place when even the slightest ray of sunlight shone on it. Its stern architecture was even more obvious; no doubt it had been renovated within the last few years, every window either covered by wooden shingles, shades or curtains. It was truly a house created for darkness. 

They paid the carriage master two bits. He tipped his hat and hastily pulled away. Holmes and Watson opened the gate cautiously. They walked up the pathway quietly and rang the doorbell. Its echo resounded through the quiet emptiness of the yard. 

Slowly, the door opened and Olivia appeared. She was wearing a plain, green dress with a white apron. “You’re late,” she said abruptly. “Get yourselves in here. Come on, come on! My employer is expecting you. Hurry up and eat, the kitchen will be closing soon.”

Holmes answered sarcastically. “And it’s so nice to see you as well, Miss Olivia.”

She glared at him. “You have thirteen minutes to wash up, sit down and eat. Now, get to it, both of you!”

After Holmes and Watson washed up, Olivia led them into the main dining room. Christian and Calinda were at the table, just finishing breakfast. He wore a bright, red shirt and gray trousers, with well-shined black shoes. She was adorned in a black dress and ruby red slippers.

Olivia stood on the threshold and announced their presence. “Madam, our two guests have arrived for breakfast.”

Holmes and Watson sat down at the kitchen table. There was an uneasy silence as Holmes broke a piece of bread off from a large loaf. He poured a cup of coffee. When he began to speak, he spoke normally, as if nothing was amiss. “Well then, how is young Luke faring, may I ask? His presence at the breakfast table is missed.” 

Calinda shifted uncomfortably, then gave a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Oh, he’s upstairs. He’s with the new nurse.”

Watson wrinkled his brow. “The new nurse?”

Calinda nodded. “Yes. It was such a shame that Victoria proved to be so untrustworthy.”

Watson’s eyes widened. “With all due respect, Miss Ludden, nothing has been proven at all.”

Holmes held his friend’s shoulder gently. “Come now, Watson. All will be ascertained in time.” He turned to Calinda. “There would be nothing that would please us more than to meet the new nurse.”

Calinda nodded to Olivia, who rushed to her side. “Yes, madam. How may I serve you?”

Calinda’s eyes narrowed. “Olivia, please take our guests upstairs to Luke’s room, so that they may have an opportunity to meet the new nurse.”

Olivia just hesitated for the slightest moment and then smiled, almost laughed. “Yes, madam. I am here to serve.” She half bowed semi-respectfully to Holmes and Watson. “Gentlemen, please follow.”

Wordlessly, she led the way as Holmes and Watson followed. Holmes engaged her in conversation when they were away from Calinda and Christian. “So, Miss Olivia, what do you think of this new nurse of yours?”

She glared at him with caution. “I know little about her, but am extremely well acquainted with her daughter.”

Watson wrinkled his brow. “I beg your pardon?”

Olivia just laughed. “Nothing that would be new to either of you. You will see soon enough. Come…”

She walked down the hall and knocked on the door to Luke’s room. “Madame, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson would like to meet you.”

The sound of locks turning could be heard on the other side of the door. A sixty-something-year-old woman with long, blond hair had opened the door. She wore Victoria’s nurse uniform with a sense of pride, although it was quite disproportionate looking on her heavy figure.

The smiling face of Bridgette Ludden greeted them warmly. “Ah, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson. I did not think that I would see you so soon. Well, I did, actually, but in a somewhat different setting.”

Neither Holmes nor Watson laughed. Olivia smiled with delight. “Oh, Madame Bridgette. I see where my lady has gotten her sense of sharp wit.”

Bridgette’s face turned seriously sullen toward Olivia. “Please leave us alone, Olivia. I’m sure that my daughter has need of your services downstairs.”

She bowed respectfully to Bridgette and turned back to walk downstairs slowly. There was an awkward moment of silence that everybody felt uncomfortable with. Holmes, as usual, was the first to break the silence. “So, Nurse Ludden, it is so gracious of you to help out with young Luke tonight. Tell me something, if you will. Is this arrangement of a permanent nature?”

She laughed. “Oh, heavens no, Mr. Holmes. This arrangement is only temporary until--well, let’s just say until I’m no longer needed. My place is at Junefield. That is where I belong.”

Holmes looked at her and said, with a hint of sarcasm, “You are referring to your place there as a staff member, are you not?” Watson laughed out loud openly. 

Bridgette’s face reddened. “And what else would I be--” Then came the brief moment in which she understood the attempt at humor. “You scoundrels--I could have you two locked up so quickly that you would never see the light of day, not in this lifetime nor in any other.”

Watson intervened quickly. “Not before I report your little establishment to the Board of Health, Nurse Ludden. The Assistant DA is a good friend of ours. She would love to learn of how many health and sanitary violations that we found at your hospital.”

She took a step backwards toward the door. “So, is your whole purpose here to harass a helpless old lady?”

Holmes and Watson echoed the same word aloud simultaneously. “Helpless?!”

She threw her hands up in the air, like a tormented drama queen. “And what is it exactly that you want from my life?”

Holmes smiled. “Actually nothing. My oh my, we are full of ourselves today, now aren’t we? As much as we thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of your company, Nurse Ludden, we would very much like to have a few moments to speak with young Luke. Is he awake for conversation?” 

Bridgette shifted uncomfortably. “He may not wish to see you.”

Watson intervened. “I am a Doctor, Nurse Ludden. You could trust that I will make sure that our line of questioning does nothing to harm his physical or mental health, in any way.”

She still stood unmoved. Holmes gently stood beside his friend. “Oh course, if that presents a problem in any way, I’m sure that the Assistant DA would be happy to resolve-”

She interrupted him. “Fifteen minutes, not a second more. In and out. You know the drill.”

She opened the door wide open to reveal the sad figure of Luke Robeson. His pajamas were stained. His hair was messed. His room was disorganized--everything from pills to leftover food to long expired children’s magazines, all piled one on top of the other in no discernible order. 

Bridgette made her way over to him. She gently called his name. “Luke, Luke.” She took his hand to rouse him. “Luke, these gentlemen would like a few minutes to speak with you. Is that okay?” 

The figure in the bed slowly nodded. He slowly removed the blankets and sat up. The room was messy beyond belief. The expected items, which included first grade reading manuals and picture books, were displayed everywhere throughout the room. 

Holmes sat down next to the bed. He nodded to Nurse Ludden, silently indicating that he wanted privacy to speak to the young man. Her face reddened, as she gritted her teeth, mouthing the words, ’fifteen minutes.’ She held up a large stopwatch and slammed the door on the way out. 

The figure in the bed started to shiver. Holmes reached out to take his hand. “Master Luke, I know that you have suffered a great deal of loss. I am sorry for that. But we need your help now. Just for a little while.”

Luke slowly turned to the side and huddled against the wall. 

Holmes turned to Watson, not knowing how to deal with such emotional distraughtness. He delicately moved aside, so that the doctor would have a chance to speak with the patient. 

Watson’s approach was somewhat more tactful, as compared with that of his friend. “Luke, we know that you miss Victoria. We could help bring her back to you. You could really help us get her back to you faster. We need your help. Now, take your time. What exactly happened on that last day, when she was taken away?” 

At once, the mentally challenged gentleman rose up from his bed and started to jump up and down frantically. He banged on the walls. At the top of his lungs, he yelled, “Bad men! Bad men!” 

Nurse Ludden rushed in, when she heard the yelling and screaming from the disturbed young man.

“What did you say to him? He was so calm before? See, you upset him.” She pushed Holmes and Watson aside and she reassuringly hugged the young man. 

“Sssshhh…ssshhh, everything will be all right. Go back to bed now.”

He started to quiet down. The nurse then turned to Holmes and Watson, whispering to them so that Luke would not be able to hear. “What was it exactly that set him off like that?”

Holmes wrinkled his brow and shook his head. “I believe that such is of a private nature, Madame. If perhaps, you had not burst in the way that you did, we would have already ascertained what we needed to know from the young man.”

Watson stared at Holmes, disbelievingly. “Holmes, just look at the poor wretch. Surely, you don’t believe…”

Holmes cut him off. “Nurse Ludden, you promised us our fifteen minutes. Perhaps, we could let him decide as to whether he wishes to continue our conversation.”

Watson took his friend by the arm. “Holmes, this time you have gone too far!”

Holmes gently pushed past Watson and Nurse Ludden. He turned directly to Luke. “Master Luke, would you be up to answering another question or two for us?”

The pathetic young man once again shook violently, throwing himself into what seemed like a seizure. He jumped up and down on the bed with even more force and speed. Frantically, he pointed at Holmes and Watson and yelled at the top of his lungs: “Bad men!! Bad men!!”

Holmes stood his ground, unmoving. He just observed the disturbed man intently. The frantic young man grabbed a tea cup with his left hand and threw it at Holmes. It just nearly missed his head. At that point, Watson and Nurse Ludden grabbed Holmes by either arm and forcefully led him out of the room backwards. However, Holmes did not avert his eye contact with the curious young man until he was fully out of the room.


	26. Chapter 26

Watson stirred uneasily in his bed in the guest room. Holmes had wrapped a blanket around himself and rocked back and forth in the rocking chair in the center of the room. The planks, however, were shakily crooked and old. The result: The chair fell over as Holmes tried to steady himself. Watson quickly lit the candle near his bed and shook his head at Holmes. 

He got out of bed and reluctantly offered his friend a hand up. “Well, how much more of a nuisance are you planning on making of yourself? An hour ago, you outrageously and unceremoniously insulted a retarded young man, and now you recklessly tip yourself over and bloody well wake up everyone in the house. What is your problem?”

Holmes looked directly into his friend’s eyes. “Don’t you see, Watson? There was something very wrong with the whole set-up in young Luke’s room. It was all too perfect, as if it was just set up to be that way. It was what you would expect to see and whoever set it up did so according to perfect expectation. Reality does not work on the rule of perfection. Something always must be an exception to the rule. Something must always be a little bit out of place.”

Watson once again offered Holmes his hand. “And what if it’s not, old chap? What if things are exactly as they should be? Admit it, Holmes, you cannot except normality.” 

Holmes did not take the offered hand, instead he just paced. “There is nothing normal about this whole bloody family, Watson! Something is very wrong, though I don’t know what it is, old chap. It’s bloody well driving me crazy.”

Watson got back into bed. “Well, guess what, Holmes?! It’s driving everyone else crazy too! Bugger it, man! You seem to function better when you’re high on something. Smoke your cocaine. Light a pipe. Play that annoying violin of yours. But do something, so that we can get some sleep!”

Holmes moved the rocking chair to a place near the window. “I’m supposed to be watching for ravens. Something is going on. I can feel it in my bones, Watson.   
Dr. Kalpenn’s book, the items in the restaurant. Alfie’s words to us at the sanitarium. The ambiguous vial of pills. The piece of wax on Ericsohnn’s shoe. Miss Samantha’s secret file. What does it all mean, Watson?”

Watson’s eyes focused on an unseen point in the ceiling. “It could mean that my good friend is slowly going crazy and is in the process of driving everyone else crazy as well. Get some sleep, Holmes.”

Holmes grabbed a photo album from the bookcase and then reached into his luggage secret compartment to retrieve Samantha’s file and Rentuk’s book. “How can anyone bloody sleep at a time like this? I have a mystery to solve.”

Watson put his pillow over his ears. “If you need to torture yourself, please keep it to yourself, old man.” 

Holmes grabbed a blanket from off his bed and retreated into the sanctity of his rocking chair. He used the windowsill as a make-shift table. Wordlessly, he arranged the photo album, the legal folder on the windowsill. He rocked back and forth, noticing for some reason that he was on more solid ground than he was when the chair was in the center of the room. Odd sort of construction…but most likely inconsequential. 

He opened the table of contents and silently read what was outlined: 

‘The Abridged Works of Edgar Allan Poe:”

1\. The Oblong Box  
2\. The Cask of Amontillado   
3\. The Tell-Tale Heart  
4\. The Gold Bug  
5\. The Masque of The Red Death  
6\. The Raven

He put the book aside and opened the photo album. There were pictures of the family members, in happier times. Christian and Abigail in innocent younger days. Calinda and Roland smiling together during a family luncheon. Luke sitting alone, being given medicine by Victoria…she, handing him a spoon which he was reaching for with his left hand. He started to slowly drift off to sleep. He was in a semi-awake state of consciousness, when he heard the caw of a bird tapping on the window. Was it reality or illusion? He wasn’t quite sure. It was a big, black raven. That was the last thing that Holmes beheld before sleep overtook him.

********

He woke up, shaking. Every nerve in his body felt on edge. His sleep was restless, filled with dreams of all that he had seen and heard for the duration of the case. 

He sweated as he tried to put together every piece of cognitive thought. Past cases which on the surface seemed to be much more difficult to solve all seemed to have that one thread of congruity at the very end…something which connected all the facts. That was something that was missing here. Something which he needed to reach. It was a missing piece… something that he would have to find, nothing that had been given to him just yet. Perhaps he would never find that missing piece. Perhaps this was the one case that would be his last…the one case that he would not be able to solve. He made a promise to himself that he would retire when this day would come. Maybe it was time. 

Surely, he was right about the identity of the benefactor. That was the one fact in which he had no doubt. The Robesons could not have pulled off a job of such complexity, if they had no help. Each fact fell into place flawlessly, but even when followed to their extreme, had led to a dead end. This was truly the work of a seasoned professional…someone who could do a great deal of harm if he kept going. More innocent people could get hurt, if he was not stopped. But the only way to stop him, for now anyway, was either to solve the case or to admit defeat. 

For the first time, he felt the hour for the second option fast approaching. 

He heard the knock on the door - a loud and intrusive disturbance on his thoughts.

He heard Watson’s footsteps and the creak of the door opening, squeaky and extremely noisy. 

Watson’s voice: “What might you want, Madam?”

Olivia’s voice: “May I remind you that the kitchen closes in exactly one hour. My employer wants you to be up and about after breakfast.”

Watson’s voice: “In case you have not noticed, my friend here could use some time to compose himself. He is not well this morning.”

Olivia’s voice: “That is not my concern, Dr. Watson. I don’t care if you have to carry him down, just get you both down to breakfast now!”

The door slammed shut as he put the blanket over his head. He then heard Watson’s gentle footsteps come closer to him. He felt his friend’s gentle hand shake him fully awake. “Holmes! Holmes! Wake up, old chap. We need to get ourselves down to breakfast.”

Watson pulled the covers down to reveal the shaking, pale figure of his best friend, rocking back and forth on the rocking chair. “Holmes! Holmes! Wake up, man! You look like death warmed over. Open your eyes, please!”

Holmes felt the cold metal stethoscope pull against his chest. He felt Watson’s index and middle fingers against his carotid artery. 

He felt the cold towels on his forehead, dripping with alcohol and water. He heard his name called over and over again as he slowly regained consciousness. His eyes opened weakly. “Watson?”

Watson wiped a bead of sweat off of Holmes’ brow. “You bloody well gave me a bad scare, old chap! For a moment, you were burning up with fever and you barely had any pulse.”

Holmes eyebrows wrinkled. “Watson?”

Watson got closer to his best friend, as he continued to sponge him down with water. “Yes, Holmes?”

Holmes spoke barely above a whisper. “Did you see that big, black raven last night, old chap? You know, that crazy old bird that Rentuk was talking about to us.”

Watson’s face reddened. “I see a crazy old bird, all right. One that is rightly quite sick at this moment. We need to get you downstairs and get some food into you.”

Holmes took his best friend by both arms. “I’m quite serious, old chap.”

Watson sighed. “I know that you are. That’s the whole bloody pity of it. Now please, get dressed. We need to get down to breakfast. Let me help you up. Can you walk on your own?”

Holmes pushed Watson’s hands aside, but lost his balance and collapsed on the bed. 

Watson shook his head. “Yes, just as I thought. It’s a good thing that I brought my med kit along.”

A moment later, Holmes felt the sharp point of a needle as it penetrated his upper arm. “Ow! Watch it there, Watson.”

Watson laughed. “That tingle of pain may have saved your life, my friend. I just gave you a shot of glucose. It will help get your blood sugar level up for about an hour or so, until we can get you downstairs to breakfast.”

Holmes felt himself become reoriented. “Thank you, old man. However, I guess that we’re just postponing the inevitable at this point, anyway.” 

Watson shook his head. “I don’t like to hear you talk that way, Holmes. You’ll recover just fine. We’ll solve the case, tie up some loose ends and get ourselves back home. Isn’t that what we always do?”

Holmes wiped his forehead with the cold towel once again. “You mean like we have always done. I’m no fool, Watson. I know when I’m beat. This case goes beyond my abilities. Nothing is connecting. I think that I’m done, Watson.”

Watson’s face reddened as he paced the room. “But you were so close, Holmes! I just know that if we just stayed here for a few more days..”

Holmes put his hand up to silence Watson. “We are leaving today, after breakfast. There is nothing more here that I can do. I cannot solve the case, so I must leave the premises. As long as I stay here and he knows that I’m here, more innocent people will get hurt.”

Watson looked his friend in the eye. “Not if you solve the case. It is not like you to just throw in the bloody towel and give up like this. Ever since we left the police station, you have been acting strangely. Now tell me what it is that’s upsetting you. I have a right to know.”

Holmes paused before speaking. “While you were in the visiting room with your lady friend, Inspector Traub and myself had some time to look through the documentation in Miss Samantha’s folder. There were several pieces of documentation--checks, bank notes, contracts and so forth, which were made out by the hand of one Mortimer James. Such were discreetly passed along to the care of our young client, Christian Robeson, over a period of many years. The amounts of money were substantial--enough to finance any bloody venture--however impossible and farfetched it may seem to be on the surface. The totality of the checks and notes is enough to bring even the most inept fool’s mission to complete fruition.”

Watson got up and paced the room. “Mortimer James? Mortimer James? Holmes, there is nobody by that name that we are acquainted with. Why are you so concerned, old chap? He probably is a rich eccentric who gets his jollies by throwing money at hard luck cases, such as the Robesons. Maybe somehow they tricked him. We both know that Calinda and Christian are experts of the con game.”

Holmes shook his head. “Perhaps, but not at that level, Watson. This scheme was engineered and planned out, perhaps years in advance, by someone who knows how I think--knows me well enough to know what I am going to do before I even do it. What makes the matter more alarming is that I think that I saw him on two occasions since our visit to the states--first, as the dark stranger on the elevator and later, just a few hours ago, around the corner, near the benches at the back of the police station. He was just lurking in the shadows as I was waiting for you.”

Watson scratched his head. “Holmes, I think that you’re making more of this than it is really warranted. The last time that we saw him, we left him for dead. Remember our last encounter with him, all those years ago? He went over that cliff, no doubt his body fell upon the rocks.”

Holmes got up and walked toward the window. When he spoke, his pace was very quick and brisk. “But think, Watson, neither of us actually did see the body fall on the rocks. He probably did somehow survive and lived amongst the shadows, with a series of aliases, one of which is our unknown benefactor, Mortimer James.”

Watson sighed. “Holmes, I’m a doctor and I know the limits of the human body’s strength and abilities. I’m telling you that no normal person could have survived that fall.”

Holmes held up his index finger. “You mean no sane person, Watson. Do not forget that we are dealing with a bloody madman, old friend. His sole purpose in life is to humiliate me and to bring me down. It’s a game of revenge and oneupmanship for him, in which he’ll stop at nothing to defeat me.”

Watson put a comforting arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Even if that is true, Holmes, we’ve had many encounters with him in the past, in which he was never able to bring us down. We’ve beaten him so many times before. So, how is this case any different?” 

Holmes looked up sadly “Because, old boy, this time he’s using other people to get to me. Think about it, Watson: the first dead body that disappeared, the skeleton that had been sent to the police station with a trace of real human hair on its head, Alfie’s forced commitment to that terrible sanitarium, Dr. Kalpenn’s suicide, Victoria’s being set up to take the fall for a crime for which she is clearly innocent--I-I-I was too selfish and self-centered to realize it at the time.” 

Watson gave his friend a concerned look. “Holmes, whatever are you talking about? You’re starting to worry me.”

Holmes got up and paced. “Don’t you see, Watson? All of those innocent people who were hurt by him. It was not about them, old chap. It was all about me. He was using them to get to me. I know it. I can feel it!”

Watson wrinkled his brow, trying to comprehend all that Holmes had said. “You assume--”

Holmes cut him off. “An assumption is defined as a theory based on fact, Watson. These are facts based on facts. This goes beyond assumption. Something must be done!”

Watson sat on the bed next to Holmes. “Assuming that you are right, what is there that you propose that we do?”

Holmes sighed and spoke softly. “Not we, I. We are to pack our bags, eat our breakfast and then leave this god-forsaken place. It will be given out to the Robesons that both you and I will be returning to the continent. However, such will only be half true. You will be returning, by way of the freight yards. I will take the carriage with you to another part of this city, a little known and far-away place on the other side of Hazel Street. In a small out-of-the way residence, there lives a chiropractor named Matthew Davies, who I had met in my old school days, who owes me a favor…a fellow of approximate height and weight resembling my own. I will change clothes with him and he will travel with you as your constant companion, in my place. 

“You will then go to the freight yards, where you will meet our trusted acquaintance, Big George, who will respect your request for absolute secrecy. You will ask him to print out two tickets for travel on the train, which you and Mr. Davies will take to the station that is closest to the pier. Mr. Davies will travel with you until you reach the other side of the pond, and there you will be safe. Only then will you and Mr. Davies part company. You will then go back to Baker Street and resume life as normal.”

Watson threw his hands up in the air. “But-but what about you, Holmes? What will you do?”

Holmes paused before speaking. “To that end, old boy, it is better that you know little about my comings and goings. After you and Mr. Davies leave the office building, I will likewise do so within the hour. However, I will be wearing a different face and carry with me several changes of clothing. I will go about my business quietly and efficiently. Slowly, methodically, step-by-step, I will root out the hell-ridden devil and--”

Watson interrupted forcefully. “And he will kill you! You cannot face him alone. I’ll have no part of this! I will go with you!”

Holmes walked toward the window, very cautiously. “Watson, you and I have been through many great and wonderful adventures together. I will readily admit to anyone that without your assistance, I would not have been able to reach this point in my successes. However, old boy, this is one time that I must go it alone.”

Watson still remained unconvinced. “Holmes! Sherlock…listen to reason, please. I want to help you. You need me!”

Holmes looked his friend in the eye. “I do not deny that I need you, that I will always need you. However, I need to decide what I don’t need at this point in time. If our nemesis goes according to his current modus operandi, he will continue to try to get to me through hurting other innocent people. There are many losses that I could bear to shoulder, many people and things that I could bear to lose, but you’re not one of them. Besides, you’re constantly belly-aching about how your gallivanting around with me keeps you from leading any semblance of a normal life, with a regular practice, wife and family. Well, now, my friend, I am setting you free to do just that.”

Watson looked up at his best friend, not knowing exactly what to say. When he spoke, his words were forced. “Holmes, I really don’t know what to say.”

Holmes just laughed. “In this instance, your silence will well suffice for your assent.”

Watson narrowed his eyes. “But once again, what exactly is it that you plan to do? Is there something more that I need to do?” 

Holmes sighed. “All you need to know is what I will tell you now. I will confront our arch foe and solve the mystery. Alfie will be released from confinement and will be free to join his lady friend, Abigail. Dr. Kalpenn’s death will be avenged and those responsible will be brought to justice. Samantha and her niece Dawn will be reunited, with no danger of the latter ever being deported. And lastly, and no doubt most importantly, somehow I will find a way to vindicate Nurse Victoria from her false conviction. I sure that she will then take the opportunity to join you on the other side of the pond.”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair. “Holmes…”

Holmes put up a finger to request his friend’s silence. “You did not allow me to finish, Watson. To answer your last question, there is indeed something that I need you to do. I need you to follow the instructions that I just gave you to the letter and…and…keep yourself safe! That is an order, Watson!” 

Watson drew closer to his best friend, so that he made direct eye contact with him. “But…Holmes, will I ever see you again?”

Holmes smiled and shook his head. “Answers to such questions are beyond even my abilities, old boy. Now, come, we have a full day’s travel ahead of us before we must separate. Till then, we need to pack our bags and go down to breakfast, all according to plan.”


	27. Chapter 27

In the living room, there were two large steamer trunks filled with clothing and other odds and ends. 

Around the breakfast table, there was an element of uncomfortable silence. Calinda was wearing a long, black skirt and sweater. She sat next to Christian, who lounged around in his bathrobe and blue trousers. Olivia, who was pouring coffee for everyone, wore a long bathrobe and comfortable slippers. She half smiled at Calinda when she filled her cup, but was nowhere as careful with the other guests, almost pouring hot coffee into Holmes’ lap. 

“Miss Olivia, I do beg your indulgence. My legs were not the only things that were almost targeted by your questionable aim.”

Calinda smiled flirtatiously at him. “More's the pity then for your female admirers, Mr. Holmes.”

Olivia shook her head. “Do you mean that from the perspective of hitting or missing the mark, Madam?”

Holmes rolled his eyes, while everyone else at the table, Luke included, stifled a laugh. 

Such caught Holmes’ attention. “Master Luke, you seem to be feeling better this morning. I notice that your nurse has been given the day off.” Luke wore his old pajamas half way down his waist. His stained sweat shirt seemed to be the same stained color as his messy hair.

It was indeed true. Bridgette Ludden was nowhere to be found. Luke responded shyly to the mention of his name. He just sat further back in his chair, putting his arms around his head, in a gesture of hiding himself away. 

Calinda was quick to answer where Holmes line of question trailed off. “Yes, Mama needed to go into town to make some arrangements. She promised to return to us later, afterwards. In the meantime, we could look after Luke in the interim.”

Watson looked up. “He doesn’t seem to be very hungry this morning.”

Christian shook his head. “The poor dolt doesn’t seem to care anyway. Why fuss over him?” 

Calinda jabbed Christian with her arm, none too gently. “What Christian meant to say is that our poor Luke has been simply traumatized by the untimely departure of Nurse Victoria. You know, Mr. Holmes, I still can’t get over it myself.”

Olivia sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Well, if you ask me, Madam, it was just really good timing that your lovely mother just happened to be available at the time to help out. It was a fine turn of luck that her wonderful supervisors, Dr. Ritter and Administrator Topole, granted her the time off to take care of our poor unfortunate uncle here. I just know how well Mr. Holmes and Nurse Ludden hit it off.”

Calinda simply nodded, unaware of the intended irony. “Yes, you know something? Mama was just telling me yesterday how much she’d be very much interested in seeing Mr. Holmes in a professional context. She would very much like him to visit her at her place of employment.”

Olivia just laughed. “I believe that Mr. Holmes and his wonderful companion already have done so, Madam.”

Holmes just nodded. “Quite. And as much as I would certainly cherish a reunion of sorts with Nurse Ludden, time is pressing on. The good Dr. Watson and myself need to be getting back to the Mother country.”

Christian looked on suspiciously. “So, then, why leave so soon?”

Holmes sighed and simply responded. “I trust that the mystery has been solved to your satisfaction, Mr. Robeson.”

Christian shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes, but--”

Holmes observed his expression. “I was hired to work by you and Miss Abigail. The later is not present right now, therefore, yours is the opinion that we value at this moment. Mr. Robeson, can you tell me in all honesty that this mystery has been solved to your satisfaction?”

A very different look appeared on Christian’s face, not one of compliance, nor or anger, but perhaps it was bewilderment or maybe more so, simply sadness. Christian didn’t say anything. He just got up and went to one of the bureau drawers in the parlor. He took out a checkbook, scribbled on one of the pages and handed the claimed pound note script to Holmes. “This is for your trouble.”

Watson scooted over to Holmes. His eyebrows went up. “Holmes, this is--”

Holmes turned to Watson. “Yes, Watson, I know what this is.” He tore up the note into several pieces and handed the pile back to young Robeson. “I am sorry. I cannot accept this.”

Christian seemed to be highly offended. He took a step closer to Holmes and faced him directly. “I was paying you your wages. On this side of the pond, Harry, you don’t refuse pay for a job that you had contracted to do. It’s just impolite. I don’t bide well to impolite people.”

Watson got between Christian and Holmes, so that there would not be a physical confrontation. “Mr. Robeson, I would strongly request that you have a seat.” Reluctantly, the younger man sat down and just glared at Holmes. Indeed, at that moment, all eyes were on Holmes, seeking answers. Watson continued. “Now, as I was saying, I’m sure that my friend here has a perfectly good reason for turning down $250,000.” 

Christian’s teeth started to involuntarily clench. “Why don’t you and Dr. Watson come outside with me and explain it, then?”

Quickly, Christian walked to the outside door and opened it, waiting for Holmes and Watson to follow. Cautiously, the two followed him. Christian indicated for the two to sit down on two of the porch chairs. 

Christian lit a cigarette and paced around. “You know something, I care very little for your reasons for turning down my check. I put on that little act for the benefit of the family. I wanted to talk with you alone about something else different, but nonetheless related. I was at the club last night and all that anybody could talk about was Kal’s suicide. Damn it to hell, this whole thing has gotten out of hand. He was innocent, you know!”

Holmes sighed. “I could not agree more, Mr. Christian. Is there something that you would like to tell us?”

Christian slowly nodded. “No. For me, it is too late. I am just an angry kid who had taken his fair share of undeserved abuse. My father was never able to be the man that his father was. I just needed an easy way out.”

Watson’s brow wrinkled. “I’m afraid that I don’t understand, Mr. Christian.”

Christian half-smiled, as he put out his cigarette. “Someday you will, and in preparation for that day, I do offer an apology in advance.”

Holmes’ face reddened. “An apology for what? You have done or said nothing to show you’re even the least bit worthy of redemption!”

Christian laughed. “Perhaps I am the same worthless wretch of a man that I was a moment ago. Although, oddly I do feel better. Come, let us go back inside before Olivia comes out to drag us back in. Keep up the ruse about the money and we should be well covered.”

Christian re-opened the door to let Holmes and Watson back in. He then slammed the door loudly and shouted, “I do not understand your ways at all.” He turned to Calinda. “Mother, dearest, do try and talk some sense into these gentlemen.” 

Holmes sighed. “Indeed, I intended no offense. I did not accept your compensation for services because I really do not believe that I have done what you had hired me to do.”

Calinda got up and responded, “We hired you to solve a mystery. That is what you have done for us. We are grateful and have paid you. I don’t see what the problem is.” Her face reddened. 

Olivia gently helped her back down to her chair. “Madam, please calm yourself. Evidently, Mr. Holmes wishes to elaborate on why he believes that he has not done what he has been hired to do. Isn’t that true, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes glanced at her oddly. “You demonstrate a remarkable amount of insight, Miss Olivia. However, to answer your question, here are the simple facts: When Mr. Christian and Miss Abigail had first come to me, the issue had related to finding a missing body. I have not succeeded in doing so. Therefore, I am not entitled to any payment for services which have not been rendered.”

Calinda turned angrily to Holmes, shaking her head. “But, you did better than what you were hired for. You solved the mystery. You put together the clues and the person who is responsible is now being held accountable for her crimes. As far as the body was concerned, there is a good chance that a criminal as intelligent as Nurse Victoria could find several ways to hide a body. Such facts will no doubt be revealed in time to Inspector Traub, in return for a chance to see the light of day again in another 25 or 30 years. But such is not our concern now, is it, Mr. Holmes?”

She laughed nervously, but Holmes still kept his expression stern. “Quite respectfully, Madam, I would admonish you to speak for yourself. Regardless, Watson and I need be pushing off now.” He turned to his friend. “Ready to go, old chap?”

Watson finished his cup of coffee and bowed respectfully to the others, who were gathered around the table. “Quite so. We regretfully cannot stay here any longer. Baker Street beckons.”

Holmes put on his deerstalker hat and buttoned his caped coat around himself. “Indeed, we do have pressing business to attend to. We thank you for your hospitality.” He picked up his suitcase, as Watson did likewise, after putting on his overcoat and bowler hat. Holmes and Watson then both bid their final farewells to the Robesons.

Olivia headed to the door to open it for them. Watson went down a step, with Holmes following closely behind. Holmes slowly turned to go to the door, when all of a sudden, he noticed something unusual. It was something that he saw out of the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks, dropped his suitcase on the floor and then quickly turned around.

Watson looked up at him. “Holmes?”

Holmes didn’t answer and then turned toward the Robesons. “Stop everything!” he yelled jubilantly. “Everybody stay where you are!” Holmes turned around quickly and assessed the room and everyone in it. “Until this very moment, you all had me at a disadvantage. There was always one missing piece…one little thing that I could not prove, thereby turning all intelligent theorization into folly. Now, however, I finally was given what I needed. Now it all makes sense.”

He turned to Luke, who at that moment was pouring himself a glass of water. “Master Luke, all photographs of you that I have seen, in addition to Miss Victoria’s admonition on how to feed yourself, in addition to the fact that the hand that you chose to use last night in throwing an object at me was indeed your left hand, proves beyond a reasonable doubt that Master Luke Robeson is, or was, a fact to be soon proven by and by, left-handed. However, the very moment that you had thought you had successfully been rid of me, you went back to using your right hand for dominant chores, such as what you had done just now, pouring yourself a glass of water. Now, most people who are left-handed in fact would have no reason to put themselves through the discomfort of using their right hand for any reason at all for dominant tasks.” He turned to Watson. “Dr. Watson, what have you been telling me about most people who have been diagnosed with Master Luke’s condition about their habits?”

Watson paused before speaking, first beginning to understand the fact that his friend was trying to ascertain. “People with such a deficit disorder tend to demonstrate severe obsessive compulsive tendencies. Therefore, any habits that are, as we would have it, ‘built in’ from birth, would be almost impossible to change.”

Holmes smiled at the assembled group of suspects. “And, Dr. Watson, would such built-in habits indeed include the choice of dominant hand?”

Watson nodded, with a slight smile. “Quite.”

Holmes paced the room and finally turned toward Luke, who by now had abandoned the drinking glass and was now cowering, a shaking bundle of nerves, against the wall. 

“So, where does that leave that us, Master Luke? Indeed, there probably is no explanation if all the facts remain the same. That being the case, Dr. Watson and myself would have to just pack up and leave, granting fortune’s fool to the devil, as the one unsolvable mystery. However, there is only one other possibility. Maybe, just maybe, the facts as they had been presented to us had been falsified in some way. That possibility does indeed open the way for other types of unusual speculation. Don’t you agree, Master Luke?”

Luke shook further, almost hysterically. “Stop..” he whispered softly. 

Christian’s eyes widened. “Mr. Holmes, if it’s more money that you’re after, we could increase the sum of our payment.”

Calinda got in front of him and stationed herself between Holmes and Luke. She turned toward Christian. “Chris, this is not about money for him. Men like Mr. Holmes are dangerous, restless souls who adhere to a foolish outdated set of standards. Therefore, they present themselves as a burden to new age society and thus do not live very long.” 

Holmes turned to face her directly. “Madame, if you deem to present yourself as the voice of new age society, then I would be contented to not live long enough to see it. An untimely demise might even be welcome.”

Calinda faced him eye to eye. “Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes gently pushed her aside. “Be that as it may, the more pressing matter at hand deals with our friend, Master Luke. As I was saying, it therefore stands to reason that the only way that this gentleman could present himself as being right hand dominant is if and only if this gentleman is not Luke Robeson!“

Before anyone could say anything, Holmes thrust himself forward and reached out toward the other man’s head. He pulled off the gentleman’s wig. Under the surface was a much darker head of hair. He bowed to the humiliated man. “Roland Robeson, so glad to make your acquaintance.”


	28. Chapter 28

Christian gasped, while the others turned away. In that moment, one of the curtains wiggled to the side slightly. Christian noticed quickly and observed silently. Ever so subtly, a small rifle appeared from inside the curtain and pointed itself at Holmes’ back. Christian put himself in front of Holmes and yelled: “Mr. Holmes, the window! The gun!” 

Watson immediately took out his service revolver. Before Holmes could move, the gun fired. At the same instant, Watson fired his own revolver. 

The curtain went down quickly, along with the figure behind it. The stray bullet had hit Christian right on, who went down as well. 

All motion stopped while everyone composed themselves. Watson slowly gave his service revolver to Holmes. He silently nodded at the mysterious curtained figure, while Watson tended to young Robeson.

“Mr. Christian, you’re very seriously hurt.” Watson tore open the young man’s bathrobe. “Oh, my, it’s worse than I thought. A main artery has been punctured. We cannot get you to surgery quickly enough.”

The newly unmasked Roland Robeson quickly came to be by his son’s side. “Chris, Chris, my son! This can’t be happening! Dr. Watson, is there anything that you can do?”

Watson shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Robeson. The bullet has punctured a main artery. By the time that we get him to the hospital, he will have lost too much blood. I’m so sorry.” Watson pushed himself aside to allow father and son one last moment together. 

Christian turned to his father. “Father, I-I have-I have let you down. I just wanted things-things that we could not have. Not for me-but for you and the f-f-family. Father-you need to know some-something. I have set up a trust-a trust fund for-every penny that-that-I’ve-I’ve saved for Abby and-and-her-her--”

Roland pleaded with Christian. “Don’t die on me, Chris. Please don’t die!” 

The young man shook and shuddered as he turned unconsciously on his right side. 

Roland turned to Dr. Watson, beseechingly. Watson took the cue and then took the young man’s pulse, and then shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Robeson. Even if we were able to stop the bleeding, he would not have lived much longer anyway.”

The circle of other family members silently paid their respects towards the young man. A moment of silence followed. Calinda was the first to speak. “Whatever was that foolish boy talking about anyway, with a trust fund? He must have been delusional, poor devil.”

Roland got up to face her directly. “For goodness’ sake’s, Calinda, show him some respect, damn you!”

Calinda tossed her hair aside, indifferently. She turned to Watson. “Dr. Watson, what do you think that he was talking about?”

Watson half way smiled. “I am not at liberty to elaborate, but I believe it to be accurate to say that the young man has experienced a redemption of sorts.”

Calinda turned toward Olivia. “Olivia, what do you think of this foolishness?”

Olivia did not answer. “I serve at your pleasure, Madam.”

Calinda nodded approvingly and turned to Holmes. “Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes stared directly right at her. “Madam Calinda, there are some people who do not know the meaning of the word ’redemption.’ I fear to say that you are most likely one of those unfortunates.”

She returned the stare. “It takes one to know one, Mr. Holmes.” 

Roland carried the body of his son to the couch and gently covered him with a blanket. “Rest in peace, my son.” He then turned toward Holmes. “Mr. Holmes, who--”

He did not have to complete his sentence. Holmes pulled aside the bloody curtain to reveal the body of the carriage master, Frederick Ericsohn. “That bullet was no doubt meant for me,” Holmes sighed. He turned to Watson. “Once again, I am in your debt, old chap.”

Watson examined the body. “Dead before he hit the floor, no doubt. Any observations, Holmes?”

Oddly enough, Holmes chose to examine the man’s feet. “I believe that I had miscalculated, earlier, Watson. This man’s shoe size is exactly one millimeter smaller than that of Nurse Victoria. Therefore, it more closely matches the size of the wax footprints, which had manifested themselves during the crime in question. Mr. Ericsohn is our mystery henchman. He disguised himself as a tramp, covered his body with bandages to further the illusion. Notice the one bandage on his hand that we see. Most likely, it covers a real wound. However, practicality dictated that he not waste bandages. But it serves as more than mere coincidence that the pile of bandages that were set up in Miss Victoria’s room is missing this one piece. No doubt, while Miss Victoria and young Abigail were out shopping, those who were otherwise involved had used the opportunity to plant the evidence in the good nurse’s room.”

Watson beamed. “So, does that mean that we have proven Victoria’s innocence? I knew it, Holmes!”

Holmes put his arm on his friend’s shoulders. “Only some questions have been answered in that regard, old chap. The rest remains to be determined later.”

Calinda still remained unmoved. “I am not impressed. So far, here is all that you have: My fiancé, for whatever reason, has felt a need to fake his own death and pretend to be his brother. Also, the fact that Franklin Erichsohn was conniving to steal the family fortune is more than evident to any idiot. Maybe, perhaps, young Christian was his associate. Maybe, perhaps, the bullet was truly meant for him to keep him quiet.”

Roland lunged for Calinda. Watson held him back as he barked at her, “Bite your tongue, woman!”

Calinda lightly tweaked the enraged man on the nose. “Mr. Holmes has yet to prove otherwise, my darling. After all, by Mr. Holmes own admission, it was Christian and Abigail who had hired him in the first place. Maybe they fabricated this whole thing, along with Franklin. Maybe there was no body after all.” 

Holmes paced the room, enjoying the moment of silence. At last, he turned back to Calinda. “Madame, you display a brilliant talent for haphazardly fabricating the truth at a moment’s notice. However, such efforts pale in light of the real truth of the facts. Now, it took me some time to put this together, but now it all makes sense. Everybody follow me, please. We are going upstairs to the guest room where Watson and I had stayed for the past couple of days. Oh, and don’t even think of trying to escape. Remember, my associate carries a hefty service revolver and will not hesitate to use it if necessary. So, all follow me in front of Dr. Watson, please.”

Calinda stayed directly behind Holmes, followed by Olivia, who was as close as her shadow. Watson stopped at the sofa where Roland was kneeling besides his dead son.

Watson kept his right hand on his revolver in his pocket as he approached the grieving father. “I’m sorry, Mr. Robeson, but I will have to ask you also to accompany myself and Mr. Holmes upstairs.”

Roland turned to Watson. “But I can’t leave him here like this, Dr. Watson.”

Watson put a hand on Roland’s shoulder. “Mr. Robeson, the best way to honor his memory is to tell the truth about all that happened. He would have wanted you to do so.”

The older man did not put up any more resistance, but quietly nodded his head and walked in front of Watson, as the two ascended the stairs. 

Holmes opened the door to his former guest room and everybody followed. When he had everybody’s attention, Holmes began to speak:

“Several things had struck me as unusual about this case. Obviously, the architect of this scheme is someone very intelligent and very dangerous, who for now will be thus labeled with his so-called alias, Mortimer James. The point of the whole bloody affair, and I use the word with double entendre fully intended, was for this madman to show me the darker side of human nature and to finally present me with an unsolvable murder--the perfect crime, if you will. Mr. James had spent many years searching for a ne’er do well family that had suffered many turns of bad luck-- a family that had started out as being well-to-do and prosperous, but had through the years lost everything of means and importance.” Holmes turned to Roland. “Isn’t that true, Mr. Robeson?”

Roland slowly nodded. “My own father, Ian Robeson, was probably one of the richest men on the continent. When he died, he left our family with a very sizable inheritance. Unfortunately, through some rather foolish investments on my part, I became painstakingly in debt and very nearly lost everything. It was then that I happened upon the acquaintance of Mr. James. 

“I don’t know how and where he found me, but he just showed up on my doorstep one day. With a smile and a suitcase full of money, he said that he wanted to offer me a business proposition: He would pay all of my debts, with a promise of much more money to come later, if I would commit myself and my family to his employ. I had very little choice, Mr. Holmes. So, for the past ten years, he has directed every aspect of our lives- a contract that I very much regret agreeing to.”

Holmes took up, where Roland had left off. “Yes, such is completely true, Mr. Robeson; even to the point of involving your son. Your employer had commissioned your son to seek out and hire two extremely intelligent, yet unfortunate young people from college, to do his biding. Dr. Rentuk Kalpenn and his fiancée, Assistant District Attorney Samantha Walden, were deceitfully drawn into this web of corruption. Not to mention your own mentally handicapped brother, the real Luke Robeson.” 

Calinda addressed him. “And to what end do you choose to pursue this, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes matched her stare. Olivia stood close by to protect her lady, if need be. “To the bloody end of finding the truth! Now, I shall continue… Luke Robeson was suffering from depression, according to the files that I’ve read. Therefore, according to directions from your Mr. James, he was admitted for a short stay at Junefield under the care of your family friend, Dr. Ritter. However, here’s what was unusual: His prescriptions differed very greatly for the type of testing that he received.”

Roland’s eyes widened. “I know nothing about this.”

Holmes slowly nodded. “You probably are telling the truth, since he was admitted under the care of Nurse Bridgette Ludden.”

Calinda lunged at Holmes, but was held back by Olivia. “You dare accuse my mother? You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Mr. Holmes!”

Holmes sighed. “Actually I do. Such is the pity of it. According to my research files, you have compiled quite a stellar juvenile record. Shocking, actually…grand larceny, prostitution, drug possession with intent to sell.”

Calinda pulled herself away from Olivia’s grip. “I was young and foolish, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes snorted. “My dear, if such took place on the other side of the pond, I can assure you that you would be treated, tried and most likely convicted as an adult.” He turned to Watson. “Watson, kindly tell us about Nurse Ludden’s record.”

Watson took out his notepad. “Illegal drug and pharmaceutical distribution issues--the severity of such being tempered by leniency from the Board of Medical Ethics. She was one vote short from being expelled, but was saved by a certain young psychiatrist, who then had very prominent influence on the board. He took a fancy to her and even fathered a child by her.” He gave Calinda a sideward glance and then continued. 

“It comes as no surprise that this young doctor was Thomas Ritter, the same doctor that she is working for till this day. Ritter’s medical practice has been called into question toward his later years of practice. However, there was never enough evidence present to convict him. So, the character of both doctor and nurse has been proven to be at best questionable.”

Calinda sat down and put her head in her hands. Olivia comforted her and then faced Holmes. “Assuming the truth of all that you have said, you have still said nothing which alludes to my lady’s guilt.”

Holmes looked up at her. “I was getting to that. Now, as I was starting to say, according to copies of sealed files, which I have been given by an undisclosed source, Master Luke was admitted to the hospital for depression-type symptoms. However, the tests which he was given had nothing at all to do with such related conditions. He was given tests for allergic reactions to different things. Now isn’t that unusual?” Holmes turned to Roland. “Mr. Robeson, did you know that your brother was severely allergic to a substance known as salicylic acid?”

Roland scratched his head. “No. I had no idea. I don’t even know what that is, actually.”

Holmes turned to Watson. “Dr. Watson, care to elaborate?”

Watson pursed his lips. “Salicylic acid is the major chemical in a common pain reliever known as aspirin.”

Calinda’s face reddened, but Roland looked completely puzzled. “Aspirin? But we ran out of pills just last week and have not been to the pharmacy since.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “Probably a reasonable assumption, since there was no vial which was directly labeled as aspirin in the medicine cabinet.” 

Calinda could not keep quiet any longer. “Liar! Oh yes, I made sure that there was definitely a half a vial of aspirin in the medicine cabinet.”

Holmes turned to her. “Half a vial, indeed? If you and your fiancé did not shop in the pharmacy since last month and you had run out of pills, where did the half a vial come from? Assuming, however, that you went to the pharmacy by yourself to buy aspirin, I would say that you were very much short changed. Aspirin is sold by the full vial, not the half vial.”

Calinda was speechless, so Olivia spoke for her. “So, what exactly does that prove, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes smiled. “It grieves me to say so, but Dr. Watson had made a somewhat awkward discovery.”

Watson continued. “While I was relieving myself in your family water closet, I noticed a vial of pills labeled Clonazapem. The unusual thing was this: I tested the pill using my portable med kit and the medicine in question was not Clonazapem at all, actually. It was indeed aspirin. Please continue, Holmes. The subsequent end to this path is enough to sicken even me.” 

Holmes paused before speaking. “I contend that by your own testimony, you have just proven yourself to be the only person who could have made the exchange.”

Calinda turned pale. Olivia put her arm around her, in a gesture of comfort. “Madam, he has proven nothing, aside from happenstance and an affectation of memory.”

Holmes laughed. “Miss Olivia, I seem to have underestimated you. However, what you fail to recognize is that in my profession, as in strict contrast to science and mathematics, a lot of little nothings could add up to a big something. For example, why did Mr. Roland feel a need to disguise himself as his brother, after Luke’s untimely death?”

There was a collective gasp throughout the room. Olivia spoke first. “And what evidence do you have to prove that Luke is dead? Just because he is not physically present, does that necessarily mean that he has departed this life? Or for that matter, you still have not proven that there is or ever was any dead body at all, for that matter?”

Calinda recovered her voice. “Perhaps this whole thing could have been an elaborate hoax that was cooked up by Christian and Abigail.”

Holmes shook his head. “How convenient it is to blame two people who are unable to defend themselves. I will make matters clearer regarding your questions by and by. Now assuming for the sake of argument that Master Luke had indeed died ..of course, at this point, without pointing a finger of blame at anyone, and his death was known to all family members in the household, once again what motive would Mr. Roland have for replacing Master Luke?”

Roland stepped forward. Calinda took him by the arm. “Roland! Tell him nothing!”

Roland freed himself from her grip. “Let me go, woman!” He turned to Holmes. “It was about a week before my brother’s death that my bank had threatened to foreclose on my investments, many of which had gone sour. In short, at that point in time, we would have been penniless. It was then that Mr. Mortimer James, a rich philanthropist friend of ours, stepped in. He bailed us out by paying outright whatever the bank demanded of us. All that he was asking for in return was that we help him with a little experiment that he was doing. He gave us no other details, but said that when the time came, he would tell us what to do.

“Well, a week later, the time did come. My brother, Luke, had died in bed, soon after eating breakfast and taking his morning pills. That was when Mr. James entered the scene. He called in the ’little favor’ that he was wished us to do for him. The experiment that we were indebted to help him with was a bizarre one, indeed. Luke’s death was not to brought out to the public circle at all. The body would be disposed of, in his own way; I honestly don‘t know how. It would have to appear that I was the one who died. I was to impersonate my brother for a certain duration of time. Then, on his word, at a moment’s notice, we would be willing to travel across the continent with all the money in my father’s will that was left to the family by virtue of Luke’s death and Victoria’s guilt. That’s all that I know, I swear.”

Holmes put one arm around Roland. “I believe you, Mr. Roland. Now, all we have to do is to find the body and we’ll have the final piece to this puzzle intact.”

Olivia snorted. “Assuming that Mr. Roland’s rants hold any lease on leading you in the proper direction. You still have not proven that anyone present here even knows where the body is.”


	29. Chapter 29

Holmes sighed. “Patience, Miss Olivia. Someone who was important enough to you to have committed to hide the evidence has shown some significant knowledge in that direction. Your gardener, Mr. Johnny Alomar, more familiarly known to the family as Alfie, had seen something that you knew could not be brought to the surface.”

Roland winced. “Alfie? Calinda, I thought that you and Christian sent him away to Junefield because he was not in his right state of mind.” 

Olivia shook her head. “Indeed, Mr. Holmes has not proven otherwise to any of us.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “My dear, your forbearance will be rewarded, I assure you.” He turned to Watson. “Dr. Watson, when we had paid a visit to Mr. Alomar at Junefield, what was your opinion of his level of sanity?”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair, and thought before speaking. “He was very much sedated, almost to the point of unconsciousness, actually, but he was still in his right frame of mind.”

Holmes nodded, satisfied with his answer. “Thank you Dr. Watson.” He turned back to the assembled group. “At first, I myself had reason to doubt Mr. Alomar’s sanity. However, he had come across as being cognitive in at least one tangible item--the floorboards in the guest bedroom, which is the room in which we are standing right now. The nails specifically, actually: three are rusty, but one is not. I thought about this and could not get it out of my mind. Why would one nail in one wooden floorboard plaque in a 40-year-old house not be rusty? The answer is this: the nail had been taken out for one reason or another. When it was replaced, one nail was apparently too weak to replace, so it was replaced with a brand new, shiny silver nail.”

Olivia laughed. “On a carpeted floor, you would be able to ascertain such an absurdity, even if it were true? Really, Mr. Holmes!” 

Holmes put one finger up in the air. “Indeed true, Madam. The problem at hand was so well camouflaged that I honestly did not see the relevance myself until last night. I was sitting in your rocking chair, near our bed, rocking back and forth, trying to think. However, the squeaking of the old, rusty iron nails under the worn out carpeting drove me mad. I then moved the chair to the window, so that I could get some fresh air to clear my head. And oddly enough, all that happened was reinforced and fell into place. By happenstance, I had deposited my chair on the wooden floorboard which was repaired with the new nail. And guess what? As I rocked back and forth, I could not hear a single squeak. The new nail had not rusted and rotted yet, and there was therefore no squeak. Case in point!”

He pushed the rocking chair aside, took out his pocketknife and carefully cut into a piece of carpeting near the window. All gasped as Holmes revealed the floorboard with the one silver nail. “Now someone went through a remarkable amount of trouble to repair this floorboard. Why, indeed, I wonder? To hide something? It was certainly important enough to push Mr. Ericsohn over the edge to try and shoot me.”

Calinda huffed. “And what does that have to do with us? If he had done whatever it is that you say he did, then he got what he deserved and all is well, right?”

Holmes shook his head. “The part does not absolve the whole, Miss Calinda. He was part of something much bigger, that involved more than he was able to handle. He panicked and therefore acted abruptly. There is more…”

Olivia shook her head impatiently and gestured to Calinda. “Come on, Madam. We have better things to do than to entertain madmen. If I were you, I’d have half a mind to make him pay for the damage to your fine carpet! Let’s help Mr. Holmes get his luggage out of here-- the sooner, the better, if you ask me!” 

Holmes put up his walking stick to stop her from walking out. “Not so fast, Miss Olivia. I would be all too happy to leave, once this mystery is solved. Now, let me continue to explain. This whole revelation did not come to me at once. Like any other well executed plan, it was taken apart in measures. Dr. Kalpenn supplied a great many clues, most of which came together step by step. Upon his death, he made sure that his fiancée Samantha entrusted to my care a certain book entitled: ‘The Abridged Works of Edgar Allan Poe.’ I pondered this book from every angle, every chapter, every verse, every word. What I was missing; however, was the big picture--the general table of contents!”

Roland shook his head. “So, what did you find, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes laughed. “It’s not what I found. It’s what I did not find. Dr. Kalpenn supplied various clues to me, subtly and with discretion. You see, the book’s contents maintained clues for each and every listed piece of work, starting from ‘The Raven,’ all the way through to ‘The Masque of The Red Death.’ My mistake, at first, was searching for what was there as opposed to what was missing. Indeed, there was only one story in which the good doctor did not provide any clue. That story was ‘The Tell Tale Heart.’ The plot of such dealt with the plight of an obsessed man who murdered his neighbor and arrogantly hid the body underneath the floorboards.” Holmes pointed to the iron nail. “Which leads me to where we are now.” Everyone started to mumble amongst themselves, as Holmes took out his pocketknife and started to work on the nail. “It was all so obvious. Why did it take me so long?”

Calinda lost her footing and feel down in a faint. She started to shake. Olivia ran to her side. “Madam!” she yelled.

Watson saw what was going on. He, at once ran to help Calinda. “She seems to be having a seizure. Step aside! Give her some air.” Watson was so intent on holding her down to examine her that he did not notice her hand, as it probed his jacket pocket and removed his service revolver. She pointed it directly at him. Everybody, with the exception of Holmes, who was still working on the floorboard, turned toward her. 

She motioned them all into the corner, indicating that they should not say a word. She then took the gun and pointed it directly at Holmes. She smiled as the gun touched the side of his head. “Dissemble no more. It is the beating of his hideous heart!” 

Holmes looked up and stepped to the side with the rest of the group. 

Calinda enjoyed being in control. She paced back and forth and addressed the group. She started with Holmes. “Mr. Holmes, you could have taken the money and made a good living for yourself. We could have gone our way and everybody could have been happy. But that wasn’t good enough for you!”

Holmes looked up at her. “Care to elaborate, Miss Calinda?”

Calinda smiled fully. “Certainly so. Our plan, which was fully financed by our benefactor, was to kill Luke, through giving him the medication that he was allergic to, and setting up Nurse Victoria to get them both out of the way at the same time. To keep up the ruse, Roland was instructed to take the place of his brother. Then all of us could have had a share in Grandpa’s fortune. After you had come and left, fully satisfied about Victoria’s guilt, we would have burned down the house--body and all--thus destroying all trace of evidence. Your certification as a world famous detective would have taken away any doubt of foul play. No insurance adjustor would have dared question the word of the great Sherlock Holmes. Thus, we would have gotten at least a million dollars worth of property insurance in addition to Grandpa’s inheritance. A flawless plan-- that is, until a maggot like you came along. Oh well, what is two more dead bodies to add to the pool, anyway?” She laughed fiendishly.

Roland came forward. “Enough! Enough! I can’t go on like this! Calinda, my dear, give me the gun, please. We need to stop this now. It has already gone way too far.”

Calinda turned directly to Roland. “Yes, it has gone too far, my darling. If you had had the good sense to know your right from your left, we would not be here right now trying to clean up your mess.”

Roland said firmly, “Give me the gun, Calinda and let’s end this.”

Calinda smiled fiendishly. “Yes, please, let’s end this right now!” She made a gesture for him to come closer. When he opened his hand to accept the gun, she stepped closer to him and fired the gun. The bullet hit him in the chest, just above the heart. He bled copiously. He fell backwards, his mouth opened and more blood leaked out. His eyes were wide open as he stared into the distance blankly.

She motioned for Dr. Watson to examine the body. “He’s dead," Watson verified after a brief examination. "Never stood much of a chance, with a gun shot wound inflicted at such close range.”

Olivia screamed. “Madam! How could you?!”

Calinda shrugged. “He was no good to us anyway. Just another body to add to the pile.” 

Olivia looked up at her. “Callie, please..”

Calinda turned to her without relenting. “Just watch my back, Livy. Holmes, Watson, get in front of me so that I can watch you. We’re all taking a little walk down to the basement.”

Olivia got in back of Calinda, who led Holmes and Watson out of the room at gunpoint. The two men made their way to the top of the stairs. Calinda watched them closely. “Stay right there and don’t move!”

Olivia gently touched her lady’s arm. She turned toward the side slightly. “Livy, I’m warning you: stay away from me!”

However, Olivia refused to move. “Callie, it’s still not too late. You can’t do this. I…I…love you. We could still go to the police. Luke’s death--not even Mr. Holmes could prove who was responsible. Christian and Franklin-- shot each other in a fit of rage. Not your fault. As for Roland, I know how he mistreated you. I’ll be your witness. It was a crime of passion. As for Holmes and Watson, although they’re prodding, menacing parasites, they do not deserve to die. Please, don’t do this, I beg you! We could put this behind us someday, if we come forward with the truth.”

Calinda shrugged. “What is truth? Nothing that would get a penniless woman like myself a single crust of bread, or earn an embrace from a demanding mother.”

Olivia tried to comfort her. “Stop, please… you’re breaking my heart, Callie.”

Calinda’s eyes widened. “More will be broken than your heart, Livy. Now get out of my way!”

She turned to Holmes and Watson. “You know what? I changed my mind. I’m growing impatient. I cannot wait any longer. You two will be dispatched now. Hell’s doors are wide open to welcome you. Good-bye, Mr. Holmes!”

She cocked the gun and pointed it directly at Holmes. As she was about to shoot, however, Olivia forcefully pushed her arm aside and she fired at the ceiling. Her eyes widened; Calinda did not expect such resistance. She lost her balance and fell backwards. She uttered one last scream as her body took a final roll down the stairs. Her eyes closed as she lost consciousness.

Olivia screamed. “No! No! Callie! My love!”

Watson cautiously took a step toward her, while Holmes went down the stairs and disarmed the tragic figure of the lady. 

The doctor followed him, examined Calinda, sighed and shook his head sadly.


	30. Chapter 30

Inspector Traub’s eyebrows lifted as he listened to the testimony of Holmes and Watson. The Robesons’ living room looked very different after the police had come to remove all traces of the crime scene. As Holmes had accurately predicted, the body of Luke Robeson was found under the floorboards, wrapped up in spice-laden materials, used to preserve his remains. 

They were speaking for an hour. The sergeant stood in the corner and watched Olivia carefully. The lady sat by the window and looked out sadly without saying a word.

At the end of the lengthy questioning, Traub looked at the pitiful figure in the corner. “I almost feel sorry for her, you know.” 

Watson looked up and responded sadly. “She did save our lives, Holmes.”

Holmes responded softly. “I cannot say that her position is enviable.”

Traub sighed. “She cannot be arrested by any standards of our law. Besides, I have my men out to arrest Nurse Bridgette Ludden and Dr. Thomas Ritter. You gentlemen have helped us to uncover a whole illegal drug smuggling ring. We’ve been trying to catch those two for the past year.”

Holmes turned to Watson. “So, justice did prevail.”

Watson looked up to his friend. “At what price?”

Traub looked at the sad girl in the corner. “More than what she would consider it worth, no doubt.”

Watson sighed sadly. “Love knows no bounds or reason, Inspector.”

Traub paused before speaking. “On that note, I looked into Samantha Walden’s involvement in this affair. Needless to say, she fully cooperated. She needed to step down from the DA’s office and do three months of community service. In exchange, I cut a deal with the governor to guarantee her niece’s permanent residence here in our country. All worked out well.”

Watson looked up and scratched his head. “Almost all, considering all that she has lost. Inspector Traub, will you do me the good turn of accompanying me to Rentuk’s funeral.”

Traub wrinkled his brow. “Why sure, the sergeant will convey us by carriage. Mr. Holmes, are you coming along?”

Holmes answered for himself. “Inspector, I don’t trifle about with affairs of the dead.”

Traub sighed oddly. “But don’t you need some sense of closure to all of this?”

Holmes looked up. “Inspector, for me there will never be any closure to things relating to the madness of the criminal element.” 

Watson shook his head and turned to Traub. “Speaking of which, Inspector Traub, have you found any way to exonerate Victoria? For sure, you still cannot find a way to realistically indict her--not after all this, anyway.”

Traub looked saddened. “I’m afraid that more is involved at this moment, Dr. Watson. The statute of limitations for the drug charges have not yet expired. Although she cannot be indicted on the murder charges, we cannot release her until she clears her name of those former charges. All that we know for certain is that she did violate her probation.”

Watson’s eyes reddened. “Which had only been found by the fact that the whole Robeson family had been trying to set her up! How could you even take such flimsy evidence seriously, Inspector?”

Traub turned toward Holmes. “Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes put his arm gently around his friend’s shoulder. “Watson, old chap, although we do not agree with the letter of the law, we must adhere to it’s ideal.”

Watson paced the room furiously. “A set of laws that indicts innocent people, almost gets us killed and almost allows a corrupt family of ruffians to get away with bloody murder! Is this your sense of justice?”

Holmes looked up and sighed. “Old boy, such questions require more time to answer. You and Inspector Traub have a funeral to attend. In the meantime, I will tend to Miss Olivia. I will meet you two back at the station house.”

Traub shook his head sadly as Watson and the sergeant accompanied him outside. Holmes was now alone with Olivia. 

Holmes was the first to speak, after assuring that Traub and Watson had left. “Well, then, Miss Olivia, I must say that for once I am left speechless.”

Olivia turned to face him directly. “Do you dare to even attempt to apologize for all that you’ve inflicted upon this family?”

Holmes shook his head. “I get no sense of pleasure from seeing others being brought down, Miss Olivia.”

Olivia responded sarcastically. “But justice was being served. That is all that matters to you, isn’t it, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes looked at her with pitiful eyes. “You have more of a sense of justice than even I, Miss Olivia. I have sacrificed nothing in puzzling out this case, but you, on the other hand--”

Olivia turned to face him directly. “I should have let her kill you. Nobody would have faulted me.”

Holmes sighed. “Your conscience would have, Miss Olivia. That is more damning than any force of nature or law.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “You mean that there is something more damaging to your sense of being than a sense of justice?”

Holmes sighed. “Yes, things that I cannot explain fall into that category. You had done something that has no reason, theory or advantage from my point of view.”

Olivia responded angrily. “Once again, your over-righteous sense of domination has taken away any possibility of human emotion on your part.”

Holmes shook his head. “Emotion only gets in the way of the real things that you set out to do in life. The man who you call ’father’ must have that same opinion, my child.”

Her hands shook, as she responded slowly. “You don’t dare talk about him, you hear me, Holmes! And for your information, I call him Papa. My birth father was a rich, snobbish, power-crazed bastard who would not abide even the slightest imperfection in any one of his children.”

Holmes took a step closer to her. “Indeed, the fact that he was the carrier of the gene for Tay-Sachs Anemia has not made your life any easier, I’m sure. That’s why he gave you up for adoption. And that is why you had your last name legally changed from Thorowitz to Thornton. There’s no use in denying it, Miss Olivia. I read the details of your past life in a folder that was entrusted to me by a confidential source. After you were put up for adoption, you struck the attention of a kindly older man who gave you a good home and a good education. In return, he would sometimes occasionally ask you to help out with little things pertaining to his business dealings. Isn’t that true, Miss Olivia?”

She looked at him with a sense of somewhat bewildered admiration. “I will not discuss the past, but since you had asked about our current affair, I will tell you this: He had commissioned me to keep things in balance; to make sure that either side of his little experiment did not reach unfair advantage.”

Holmes smiled. “Thus, it was you who contacted the Junefield Psychiatric Center to inform the staff of our arrival.”

She returned the smile. “Yes, and I have done so without alerting my family. Balance without compromise, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “So, you’re going to tell me with a straight face that your only reason for saving our lives was to maintain some type of a sense of balance?” 

She laughed. “Well, that sort of reminds me of the story of a pouty young boy who could never quite measure up to the expectations of his mother. His older brother was always smarter, quicker and more socially affable. When the kid tried to grow up normally, he found reason to believe that one of his professors had designs on his mother. Now that really messed this kid up, big time. Sound familiar, Sherlock?”

Holmes paused before speaking. “Apparently, your Papa had told you a thing or two about me. I deny nothing, only my intention on questioning a sense of balance. It is necessary for the universe, but can never come to pass for people like you and I.”

She softened her tone of voice. “Well, at least we agree upon something, then, I suppose.”

Holmes looked at her directly. “So, do you believe that Luke Robeson deserved the fate that was brought upon him?”

She hardened her stare. “Mr. Holmes, had Luke continued to live, his condition would have only worsened. There was no hope for him to get any better. He would have died within a couple of years, bereft of all dignity--sentenced to spend his last weeks of life as a senseless lump of flesh.”

Holmes took a step closer to her. “Miss Olivia. I do know that there is no cure for your blood anemia condition. Do you believe that such might be your fate as well, in a couple of years?”

Tears came to her eyes. “A couple of years, Holmes? Already I feel my hands shaking a little more as the days pass. My gait, just a little more unsteady. Indeed, if Luke had lived, I do not know whether his normal lifespan would have outlasted mine by very much.”

Holmes got up and paced. “You’re an amazing woman, Miss Olivia. I cannot dispute your logic on any level at all. Given different circumstances, you and I could have perhaps made some type of a go of it, if you know what I mean.”

She openly laughed. “I don’t think that you would get on with Papa very well.”

He returned the laugh. “I rather think not, Miss Olivia.”

She got up off the couch and put her hand on his shoulder. “Speaking of which, he is bringing his carriage by to pick me up. I don’t think that you want to be around when he arrives.”

He responded in kind. “I rather think not, Miss Olivia.”

She turned to walk out and then turned back to Holmes. “Oh, by the way, before you leave our fine country, you might want to swing by the freight yards one last time. Pertaining to Dr. Watson’s final concern, there is a big clue there that you may not wish to overlook.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “Your advice is well taken, Madam.”

The noise of a horse drawn carriage grew louder and came to an abrupt halt near the residence. She extended her hand to Holmes. “Until we meet again, Mr. Holmes.”

He accepted her hand and kissed her fingertips like a gentleman. “Until we meet again.” 

She bowed to him and headed out the door.

********

The shadowy figure in the carriage was a man of ancient years and modern style of clothing. His nearly bald head was covered with faded red hairs arranged to cover the bald spots. His wrinkled hands were covered by a pair of white gloves. There was no way to estimate his age, but it was of an era that he shared with no one. His eyes did not convey sadness, they did not convey happiness or satisfaction--they conveyed nothing. 

Such was the expression that greeted his young ward, when she opened the carriage door. “Hello, Papa.”

He nodded to her and then motioned for her to sit down. “Please, my dear, you are obstructing my view.” She obediently sat in the comfortable, plush seat opposite her mentor.

He looked out the window and stared outward. “That is him, is it not, my dear? Tell me, is he alone?”

Olivia sighed. “Yes, Papa, it is he and yes, he is alone.”

His eyes widened. “As well he should be. There is one man who calls him friend. All the rest will abandon him someday, as they had abandoned me.”

Olivia started to talk, but then stopped short. He noticed and then looked directly at her. “Is there something that you wish to say to me, daughter?” 

Olivia’s face reddened. “Papa, with all due respect, it was you who abandoned them.”

He snorted. “What difference does it make? Show me a man who calls anybody else a friend and I’ll show you a damned fool! Let’s get the hell out of here. Carriage Master, whip those horses!” The wagon moved under them, as they felt the horses swiftly move forward. He then turned to Olivia. “You’re better off alone, my dear.”

Olivia half smiled. “You’re so much like him, you know. Why do you hate him so much, Papa?”

He openly laughed. “Who says that I hate him? Would I waste so much time and effort on trying to destroy someone who I hate?”

She stared at him, completely puzzled. 

He continued, as he folded his gloved hands, “You don’t understand, do you? You hesitate, because you sense contradiction.”

Olivia just wrinkled her brow. “Papa?”

He looked at her attentively. “I am not looking to destroy a man--I need to destroy what he represents, my dear. He is a symbol of all that weakens humanity. That is why he must be brought down.”

Olivia sighed. “More’s the pity… indeed. But let’s not talk about Holmes for a moment. Papa, have you ever been in love?”

For a moment, his eyes looked saddened. “Why do you ask?”

She wiped a tear from her eye. “No…nothing, please forget it.”

His face turned sullen. “My child, you do not ask such a question and ask that it be forgotten. I think…I believe I know where this comes from. I have been a self-indulgent brute. For that, I apologize. I know that you have had a great affection for Miss Calinda. I am sorry.”

Her mouth opened wide. “How…how…did you know?”

He laughed. “You forget who I am. My dear, I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

She blushed. “I didn’t think it was so obvious. Oh, my, I am so embarrassed.”

He took her hand. “Olivia, my darling, love is the only emotion that is pure and uncorrupted. All of us experience it in different ways. Well, almost all of us anyway. Never be ashamed to talk about it.”

She gave him a mischievous glance. “So, well then, Papa, my question still remains unanswered.”

He turned away and sighed. His expression changed as he turned back to her. His features were softened. For a moment, he looked like a young man. “The answer to your question, my dear, is yes. Yes, but only once. She was married. Married in name only, for she and her husband were very much estranged. Nevertheless, ours was a secret romance. She had two sons. The older one was smart as a whip, left home at an early age and settled himself well in society. The younger one chose a different path. He never quite blended in with any group at all. Strange young man, indeed. Kept to himself… A social outcast, but there was something quite special about him. I understood him, but his mother broke it off with me, before I could get to know him better. I believe she broke it off, actually, because she feared that he was getting too close to me. Imagine that, my dear? As if I could be a father figure to someone like… Well, enough said. So much more the pity….”

The carriage master stopped short as they reached a fork in the road. He shouted back to the old man. “Sir, left or right, may I ask?”

The old man paused before speaking. “Take the path that will take us as far away from this godforsaken place as possible!”

The carriage master nodded. “Very well, Professor Moriarty!”


	31. Chapter 31

Watson gulped down his glass of water. Traub just wiped the sweat off of his brow. The police station was uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, Traub welcomed the peacefulness on a slow-going day. But not today. He just felt uneasy. 

Watson sighed. “I can’t understand it, Inspector. He is never late. When he promises to be at a certain place, at a certain time, he is always there. Something must have happened to him.”

Traub tried to comfort the young doctor. “Dr. Watson, this is New Jersey. Events don’t proceed as regimented here as you would find in your home country. Besides, this has been a tough day for everyone, considering the funeral and all.” 

Watson shook his head. “I suppose that I am still a little worried about Victoria. Is there any chance, Inspector--”

Traub looked up sorrowfully. “Sorry, son. Unless some new evidence is introduced, we cannot let her go.”

Watson paced around helplessly. “If we were back in the Mother Country, at this point, Holmes would just waltz in here with some type of earth-shaking--”

Well, at that moment, the earth did shake, actually. The back door was being taken down. Loud noises were coming from the back as the sergeant’s voice was heard protesting. The other voice in the background was that of Sherlock Holmes.

Traub and Watson looked at each other, completely puzzled. Traub was concerned. “Well, something is going on back there. I suppose that we should investigate.”

Watson followed Traub as they entered the backroom of the station. The tall sergeant was struggling to block the entrance for Holmes and a visitor that accompanied him. “Whatever do you think you are doing? Our station is New Jersey State Property!” 

Holmes quickly responded. “I assure you that what I need to do has its reason and there is no other alternative.”

The sergeant turned questioningly to Traub. “Inspector?”

By that time, Traub and Watson had already arrived to ascertain the cause of the ruckus. They recognized the newcomer immediately. Watson was the first to greet him. “Big George?”

The obese man smiled and gave Watson a bear hug. “Doctor Watson! It’s so wonderful to see you!” He was wearing his greasy denim overalls and a large, blue flannel shirt to cover, well, whatever the overalls were unable to cover, actually. Holmes stood aside and smoked his pipe, while his friend was being so assertively greeted. 

Watson was at the point of choking. “Glad to see you too, George. Now would you kindly let me go? I feel somewhat constricted.”

George laughed and released his grip. “Sorry, Doctor. I’m just so glad to see you guys again. Especially after Mr. Holmes visited me to deliver some very important news.”

Traub looked up at the heavyset man, and then back to Holmes. “All right, Mr. Holmes. I gave you a very large amount of latitude here in this case. But this time, you’ve gone too far. You try to remove a door from official police property so that you would be able to admit this rather large (no offense, sir) gentleman. I think that I’m within my rights to question why.”

Holmes laughed. “Yes, you are, Inspector. I got a tip from a reliable source that I should visit the freight yards to try to investigate a very big clue. So, I put a few facts together and have drawn some conclusions.”

Traub was still impatient. “Mr. Holmes, that is not enough. You need to tell me more.”

George turned to Holmes. “I’ll handle things from here, Mr. Holmes.” He then turned to the Inspector, his face now very serious. His voice was fast and his tone commanding. “Inspector Traub, I don’t believe that you understand the seriousness of the situation. You have something of mine here which is quite valuable and precious. Something which I refuse to leave without. Do I make myself clear?”

Traub turned to Holmes, looking completely puzzled. Holmes just nodded in agreement and said, “Quite.”


	32. Chapter 32

Victoria Amberling shifted uncomfortably in her cell. She tried reading to relieve the pangs of stress. That usually helped her to get to sleep. But tonight, she felt especially restless. Something was very wrong. She could sense it. 

The one friend that she had made in here was a sympathetic older lady named Iris Amery. She was one of the prison attendants, hired at minimum salary. She and Victoria had immediately bonded, when the younger had recognized the older woman as being a formerly famous author. They talked for long hours afterward. Victoria had found out that her new friend had stopped writing new material because of severe depression. Her son had died unexpectedly, several years earlier, from a disease which at the time had no name, diagnosis or cure. 

The young nurse tried to hold back tears as she heard the description of the symptoms of the illness. She quickly diagnosed the disease by the symptoms. It was a new strain of smallpox. A vaccine had just been developed six months ago. If only Iris’ son had held on for another couple of months, he could have been given the vaccine and would have been just fine now. But Victoria did not have the heart to share this information with Iris. It would only make her feel worse. But she did make a silent promise to herself about what she would do with her life, if she ever got out of this place. 

As the nights passed, the two women had comforted each other. Iris was almost like a mother to her. It made her sad to remember that she never knew her own mother, since she had died when the girl was very young. But for now, this woman would be the mother that she never had. She thought this way last night, when she slowly drifted off to sleep as Iris had read to her one of the fairy tales she had written. 

Tonight, however, was different. Iris did not come in to check up on her at her usual time. Victoria tuned her ears upward and could hear shouting, yelling and screaming, coming from upstairs. For a moment, just one moment, she thought that she heard the shadow of a very familiar voice. No, it couldn’t be. There was just no way….She strained her ears to hear more, when she heard the slow throb of footsteps coming down the stairs. 

Iris was dressed in a housecoat-- very much unlike her usual attire of a casual dress. There was a hat on her head, covering her curly, grayish black hair, which she usually wore long and loose. She was holding an umbrella and wearing boots. She was carrying a package. She looked at her young friend sadly. 

“Iris?”

The older lady’s voice was sad and low. “Vicky.”

Victoria stared at her worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

Iris sighed. “Vicky, my dear, you have been summoned to the Warden’s office. I was ordered to accompany you. An officer is waiting for us upstairs.” She handed the package to Victoria. “Come, get dressed. There are some of my old clothes in this box here. I want you to look respectable.”

Victoria looked worried, since she understood what it meant to be summoned to the Warden’s office. The only prisoners who were called in to see the Warden were those who were scheduled for transfer. And ’transfer’ usually entailed being shipped off to a maximum security prison. She shuddered at the thought.

A tear came to her eye. “Please don’t leave me, Iris.”

Iris rubbed her eyes to prevent herself from crying. “Don’t talk that way, my dear. I am here for you. You know that. Now come, get dressed. We needn’t keep the Warden waiting.”

********

The Warden’s office was located in a dark building, across the street from the police station holding area. It was raining outside. Iris’ umbrella was sheltering the other woman, while the other officer walked in back of them to watch the prisoner carefully. 

Victoria wore a dress that seemed to be made handmade for her. Her high-buttoned shoes were ones that Iris had worn herself, but were in good shape. She remembered Iris’ last words to her, as she helped her dress. “I was hoping that this would be my present to you, when you were released from here. Have courage, my dear, it may very well be.”

They approached the dark building, pulled the umbrella down. The officer motioned for them to walk ahead of him. They walked up a flight of stairs and came to a room with a door. Light came from the other side. The officer nodded for Iris to open the door and to let the prisoner in. She did so and the officer followed behind. 

Victoria noticed some men gathered around a big desk. She had never met Warden Daniel Baker, but had seen his picture in the papers. He looked scarier in person. His short stature did nothing to make him look less intimidating. Huddled around Mr. Baker’s desk was Sherlock Holmes, James Watson, Inspector Traub and a very large figure turning around. It was Big George. He stared directly at Victoria. 

“Victoria!” he bellowed. 

The young lady’s eyes widened. She ran up to the big figure and threw her arms around him wildly. (Believe it or not, she nearly knocked him down.) “Daddy!” Father and daughter embraced warmly. Nobody dared interrupt the tender moment. 

Victoria slowly broke away. “Daddy, what are you doing here?”

He wrinkled his brow. “Mr. Holmes told me that your frequent trips to the freight yard to give me my medication has gotten you into some trouble here. I don’t know anything about that. All that I do know is that I have come here to take my daughter home.”

Victoria sighed. “Daddy, I did not want you to get into any trouble. Your prosthetic arm was hurting so badly. I could not let you suffer without your pain medication.”

Warden Baker could hold back no longer, although there was a touch of sadness in his voice. “Illegal narcotic distribution; that’s what we’re dealing with here.”

George huddled up next to the Warden’s desk, like a giant kitten. “But Warden, sir, she would not have stolen the drugs in the first place, if she hadn’t been trying to help me out. Arrest me, please, but let her go!”

Victoria screamed, “No!!”

Inspector Traub leaned closer to the Warden. “With all due respect, sir, as Mr. Holmes has helped us ascertain, the drugs in question would have been smuggled out and sold illegally anyway. Dr. Ritter and Nurse Ludden have made a full confession.” 

Watson moved closer to the Warden as well. “She has been cleared of the murder charges, Warden. Clearly, she is here because she was being set up. Regardless of what she did, in regards to the drug charges, she was arrested on false charges. You can’t hold her here!”

Holmes put an arm around his old friend’s shoulder. “Watson, the spirit of the law sometimes works in a peculiar way. The continental constitution very much resembles our own common law in defining the difficulties.”

George held Victoria closer. “Mr. Holmes, I’m a simple man who is not educated in any type of legal matter. But I’m smart enough to know right from wrong. We’re not talking about an evil, devious criminal here. We’re talking about a young girl who was trying to help her father. My employer had cut off my insurance benefits, so that I could not afford my pain meds. I went through the day moaning and groaning in pain from my wooden arm, wishing that I was dead. Please don’t hold my girl responsible. It was my problem, and I should have just ended my suffering in my own way.” 

Victoria yelled defiantly. “I would sooner die than let that happen!”

The Warden put up his hand, signaling for silence. “Clearly, there are many issues at stake here. However, things are not as simple as we would like them to be. Everything that we learned needs to be brought to the new DA and he will decide what to do about young Nurse Amberling’s case. I’m afraid that the matter is quite out of my hands. The old DA, Samantha Walden, probably would have given Miss Amberling a pass--all things considered--but she’s stepping down. The new DA, Walt Hauser, is an old, self-righteous war horse. He’ll go for the quick and sure conviction, rather than look at the big picture. Given this guy’s conviction rate, the best you could probably do is to have the charges reduced by pleading guilty to a lesser charge. Five years of prison--probation in two, with good behavior. That’s probably what you’ll be facing.”


	33. Chapter 33

George looked at him beseechingly. “But Warden, she doesn’t deserve a criminal record!”

Holmes slowly stepped forward. “Mr. Baker, I have always been a proponent of justice enforcement to the sternest degree. However, let us go back to our previous argument about the spirit of the law: Would the founding fathers of your country’s constitution see fit to go to the extreme of convicting a woman for the crime of doing the right thing, doing the humane thing, trying to alleviate the suffering of another at the cost of her own freedom? Indeed, to my way of thinking, does that not entail the concepts that your founders have fought so hard to achieve? If this woman is to suffer another day for what she has done, I could make the argument that such would be, well, in your own colonial phrase, unconstitutional. Need I say more?” 

All were silent. Nobody could say anything for a full moment afterwards. Slowly, the Warden got up from his desk and started to speak. His tone was very different from anything that he used in speaking before. His voice was softer, more gentle, more human. “I would not ordinarily do this, but as Mr. Holmes has persuasively argued, in this case, the circumstances are exceptional. The governor owes me a favor or two, political payback for helping him get elected. So, I’m fairly sure that if I bring up Nurse Amberling’s case to him, he would most likely override the new DA, if need be.”

“That will not be necessary, Danny!” The source of the voice was feminine. It was coming from the top of the stairs. There were some others behind her, on the stair landing. By a wave of her hand, she signaled for them to be still and quiet and they obeyed. She was clad in black, from head to toe. Her brown hair was tied back in a pony-tail. Her voice was authoritative and her eyes were set. She was Samantha Walden. 

Warden Baker wrinkled his brow. “Miss Walden?”

She laughed. “That’s DA Walden to you, Danny. You apparently don’t read your mail, do you? Nor do you, Inspector Traub. My resignation is pending 12 Midnight tonight.” She looked at her watch. “It is now 11:45PM. Therefore, for the next fifteen minutes, I am still the DA. And I am in authority to make my last ruling. For many years now, I have been trying to track down the full compliment of the Hazel Street drug smuggling ring. However, they did such a good job covering their tracks that I couldn’t make heads or tails out of who was responsible. Inspector Traub tracked down Dr. Ritter and Nurse Ludden--by the way, good job, Peter. However, there was just one thread that was left untouched. 

“There was one person who was indispensable to their racket--The transporter. He was better covered up then the doctor and nurse, mind you. If Mr. Holmes did not talk to me after the funeral yesterday, I would never have been able to put the pieces together. He worked with me for four hours last night and we finally got together a strong enough case to arrest him.” She walked over to Holmes and gave him a big hug. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

Holmes looked extremely uncomfortable. Watson smiled mischievously and Holmes knew that his best friend would tease him mercilessly about the matter later. Holmes gently broke the hold. “DA Walden, all is within the parameters of doing my job, I assure you.”

She laughed. “Someday, you will find something more important than the discharge of one’s duty. Life is a heck of a lot more complicated, as you and Dr. Watson have rightly taught me.”

Holmes shifted uncomfortably. “Madam DA, could we please get back to the case at hand? The time is ticking dangerously away.”

Her expression changed and she was once again all business. She walked over to the staircase and yelled down: “Officers! Bring up the prisoner!”

The voices started to ramble downstairs, as the sounds of the labored climbing of three men filled the office. In the lead of the three was Mr. Lawrence Johnson, the New Jersey Multi-Transit supervisor. 

George laughed with disbelief. “Mr. Johnson? That man ran my whole department!”

Samantha got in back of the prisoner and said authoritatively, “That was not all that he was responsible for running, Mr. Amberling! For years, he was working with Nurse Ludden and Dr. Ritter on illegal trafficking of drugs. They worked together to write false prescriptions for patients who did not exist, and transport the whole kit and caboodle to different parts of the country by way of Jersey Multi-Transit. Mr. Johnson here had done a great job in covering the whole thing up--that is, until Mr. Holmes came along and put it all together. Last night, we had traced the serial numbers of all the drugs in question. Which brings me to the charges that were brought against Nurse Amberling. Every vial of medication that was taken by Nurse Amberling to help sedate her father’s pain was on the list to be transported illegally by Dr. Ritter. Therefore, no real patient was being deprived of any needed medication. 

“Ultimately, Johnson here caused the situation by taking away Mr. Amberling’s medical insurance and pocketing the money to finance the drug operation. Therefore, Nurse Amberling had acted accordingly to conscience and good judgment, making the best of a very bad situation. Miss Victoria Amberling, it is now 11:55 P.M. and as of this moment, my last act as Assistant District Attorney of this state is to fully exonerate, pardon and absolve you of all drug charges brought against you. Along with such, I convey a full apology on behalf of the District Attorney’s office. You are free to go.” 

A general cry of joy came from Big George, Watson and Victoria all at the same time. All at once, all three of them hugged Samantha Walden all at the same time. Holmes tried to sneak away, but Watson saw him and forcefully pulled him into the circle. The big party of four frantically fell down, playfully tumbling onto the floor, right on the stomach of the last member of the circle, effectively pinning him to the floor, while everybody else laughed hysterically. They gently picked themselves up, all but ignoring Holmes. Watson came back to help him up, almost as an afterthought. Holmes grunted as his friend pulled him to his feet. 

The exhausted detective groaned in pain to his best friend. “Watson, please tell me again why we took this case?”


	34. Chapter 34

One night later, there was an event that could be neither classified as one to celebrate or to mourn. The awkwardness of how to classify such an event would baffle even the great Sherlock Holmes. Indeed, it took every shred of persuasion in Watson’s litany to get Holmes to consent to attend. By mutual consent, it would be classified as a farewell to Holmes and Watson, as well as a eulogy to Rentuk Kalpenn. 

It was a small group that would be there. The location was decided by Samantha to be the same restaurant by the bay where Holmes and Watson met with Rentuk and Dawn. It seemed like such a long time ago, although only days had passed. 

There was a subdued monotone of classical music that was heard in the background. Inspector Peter Traub filled his glass with another serving of homemade beer. He sat next to Warden Baker, who drank a large glass of iced tea. Both men wore black suits, blue ties and well shined shoes. Iris, the prison matron, sat at their table. She was wearing a green dress and black high button boots. She drank a small glass of spring water. She talked to the two men about Victoria and how she was so relieved that the nightmare was over. Traub and the Warden had sensed that her interest in the young lady was charmingly maternal, but both hesitated to ask questions about why she felt that way. 

Samantha and Dawn sat at the first table, across from the police officers. Both were still wearing black dresses. They were talking to each other quietly. A large picture of the pair of them, with Rentuk Kalpenn standing in the middle, was at the center of the room. 

Alfie and Abigail had their own table to the right of Samantha and Dawn. Abigail was definitely well proportioned from being in the family way, now more than ever. 

Sherlock Holmes sat at a table off to the side with Big George sitting next to him. Holmes was wearing his usual deerstalker hat and tweed suit. At Watson’s insistence, he had gotten a hair cut, but he absolutely refused to shave. Big George was dressed in a blue suit with a red tie and white shirt. The two gentlemen had a large meatball in front of them, which they were contemplating quite carefully. 

George licked his lips, as he started to speak. “You know, Mr. Holmes, in my life, as you may have guessed, I have consumed a great number of meat balls.”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “Somehow, I have no reason to doubt that, Mr. Amberling.”

George laughed, as he understood Holmes ironic tone of voice. “I like you, Mr. Holmes, but you didn’t get my point. What I started to say, is that in all my life, with every meatball that I’ve eaten, there are no two that taste exactly alike.”

Holmes scratched his beard and thought for a minute. “The reason, for that, Mr. Amberling, is that it is thoroughly impossible to make two meatballs exactly identical in size and structure. Therefore, it is logical that because of that fact, no two meatballs would taste exactly alike.”

George shook his head. “But surely, if you have a set recipe--”

Holmes laughed. “Especially, if you have a set recipe, that factor gives the brain more time and space to speculate. A pound of ground beef folded, neatly quartered and processed--how many different ways are there of just performing that one task? Indeed, how many different ways are there of creating a beef patty out of a given measure of meat? How does one’s eye judge how to allocate spices?”

George wrinkled his brow. “I never thought of it quite that way, Mr. Holmes. Victoria has always cooked for me, you know. I don’t know how she did it-- she never followed any recipes at all for anything. But everything that she made always came out perfectly. She always knew what to do in the kitchen. Someday, I’m telling you, she’ll make some lucky man a really good wife. Speaking of which, we haven’t seen her and our friend Dr. Watson since last night, when we all parted at the police station. They said that they were going to have dinner together. Come to think of it, we haven’t seen them since. It makes me wonder, Mr. Holmes, if dinner had turned into breakfast and then later lunch.”

Holmes took his attention off of the meatball, took out his pocket watch and examined the time. “Indeed. I am sure that they have a great deal of medical work to catch up on, considering the catastrophic events of last night--reports to fill out, testimony to give witness to--that type of work. Such could be quite time consuming. By the by, Mr. Amberling, thank you for putting me up last night. You know, it would have been perfectly fine for me to go back to the Robeson estate and stay in the guest room for one more night. Inspector Traub assured me that his men had removed all the bodies.”

George smiled. “I couldn’t let you stay by yourself after all the wonderful things that you’ve done for me and my daughter. I hope that my snoring didn’t bother you.”

Holmes shook his head. “Think nothing of it, old man. Although I must protest that you did have a tendency to hog the blankets. Now Watson says that I talk in my sleep. Did I say anything of import, Mr. Ambering?”

George laughed. “I don’t know. I was too busy snoring. Does Dr. Watson have any strange sleeping habits, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes laughed. “Oh, please, where do I begin?”

A masculine voice accompanied by a lady’s laughter entered into the background. “Don’t listen to anything that he says, Mr. Amberling,” said Watson playfully. “The last time that he and I had to share a bed, he nearly burned down the hotel with an ash from one of his misplaced cigars.” 

George and Holmes looked up to see Watson and Victoria had joined them. Watson wore a bright gray suit with a blue shirt and a gold tie. Victoria wore a beautiful blue gown with black, low-heeled kid slippers. Her hair was tied back with a blue ribbon. The young couple was hand in hand. 

Holmes once again took out his pocket watch and shook his head. “Well, it’s about time! Mr. Amberling and I were worried sick with the two of you gallivanting about the wilds of New Jersey, all by yourselves, at all hours of the night.”

Victoria gave a mischievous smile. “Oh, one could accurately say that James and I were gallivanting about, but we were hardly prowling the streets. As a matter of fact, we hardly had any occasion to leave my apartment.”

Holmes observed them both. “Well, for a couple who claim to have spent a quiet night together, you don’t look like you got much sleep.”

Victoria turned to Watson. “Is he always like this, James?”

Watson laughed. “Only when he’s breathing.”

Everyone at the table, except Holmes, shared a hearty laugh. 

George got up and affectionately hugged the young man and woman. “It is so nice to see you both. You make such a beautiful couple.”

Victoria smiled quietly. “I’m just glad that things worked out the way that they did. Given the circumstances, we may not have been so lucky. Come on, Dad, let’s go and mingle. Mr. Holmes?”

As George slowly moved away, Holmes turned to Victoria and Watson. “No, you all go ahead. I need some time to myself.” After they had left, Holmes reached into his briefcase and removed the file that Samantha had secretly given him. He continued with the notes that he had taken earlier. He was so engrossed in his work that he did not notice the presence of the young girl, who had slowly inched her way towards him and was now standing behind him, looking over his shoulder. 

“You forgot the comma after ’however,’ Mr. Holmes.”

The detective shook, startled and almost fell off of his chair. “Miss Dawn! You scared me, child. Could you try to be a little less subtle next time?”

The girl shook her head. “My aunt seems to think that you’re something of a gentleman. Uncle Rentuk respected you as a man to be trusted. I find that hard to do, reading the work of an educated man who writes like a commoner.”

Holmes closed the file to the manuscript. “Well, my notes were not intended for your evaluation and criticism.”

She would not give up, however. She drew closer to him. “The way that a man writes determines what is in his innermost thoughts. Judging by how little that I’ve read from your file notes, I would deduce that you are a very sad man.” 

Holmes looked up at her. “You’re an unusual young lady, Miss Dawn. Why are you so fixated on me and my eccentricities, when most young ladies in your position would just surrender themselves to the well wishing of others upon the occasion of such a tragic family loss? Oh, by the by, I have not conveyed my condolences on the passing of your Uncle Rentuk.”

Dawn slowly nodded her head. “You answered your own question, Mr. Holmes. I focus on your eccentricities because you remind me so much of my Uncle Rentuk. He was reclusive, mysterious, tortured, tormented and never really happy. But deep down inside, he was a wonderful person who deeply cared about doing the right thing. I just wonder if--”

Holmes looked up, completely intrigued. “Yes, please go on, Miss Dawn.”

“Oh forget it, I can’t even say it.”

She started to move away from the table, but he lightly held her hand. “I’ll save you the trouble. The answer to your question is ‘yes.’ If I found myself to be in the same set of troublesome circumstances, I would have definitely ended matters in the same way as your Uncle Rentuk.”

She scratched her head. “But is that really the right thing to do?”

Holmes laughed. “Miss Dawn, in the course of your studies, I’m quite sure that you will learn a certain principle of physics, which states that to every action, there must be applied an equal and opposite reaction. The human condition with all it’s quirks and oddities would define how we handle that problem. Your uncle and myself are cut from the same cloth. We see things in a certain way, and we act accordingly. It’s not a matter of right and wrong. It’s just what is. I don’t know if I answered your question.”

She smiled at him and for a moment, just said nothing. “I do understand. That’s the saddest part of the whole thing, actually.” She slowly walked away, then turned back to him. “Oh, by the way, I almost forgot, my aunt wants to see you.” He nodded to her and she mingled into the crowd. 

He found himself wanting to get up, but he felt fixated in one place. It was as though he wanted to move, but just couldn’t. He saw Samantha Walden sitting at the bar alone, just ten feet away from him. He glanced in her direction and she gave him a stare of recognition. He saw her, but just could not move. It was a welcome relief when he was greeted by the smiling figures of Abigail and Alfie.

Abigail was the first to speak. “Mr. Holmes, I just don’t know how to thank you.” She hugged him warmly.

Alfie followed by giving him a firm handshake. “What she said, Mr. Holmes. Nothing to add. You know, come to think of it, I’ll be saying that a lot from now on. Abby and I are getting married soon. Check out the rock!”

He took Abigail’s hand and showed off a beautiful diamond ring. Holmes nodded approvingly. “Impressive, and on a garden caretaker’s salary too.” 

Alfie laughed. “Well, you’re halfway right anyway. Why do you think that I worked so hard in that damned garden? I was working on producing a new hybrid breed of legume that would be able to be in season all year round. Before the Junefield incident, I had finally found the answer that I was looking for. I created the perfect specimen. I mailed in a sample to the Jersey State Agricultural Association.

“So, when I came home this morning, there was a big check in my mailbox for $50,000 as a down payment for litigation for the patent rights. More money is supposed to be coming soon. I can finally make a good life for Abby and the baby. All thanks to you.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know. There seems to be something missing in the timeline here, Alfie. The last time that we saw you, it was in Junefield and you were heavily sedated. Would you be so kind as to fill me in as to what happened afterwards?”

Alfie laughed. “Sorry, I was getting a little ahead of myself. Well, to begin with, Mr. Holmes, the only way to survive in that place and retain the least bit of sanity is to pretend to be more spaced out and drugged up than you really are. Ritter and Nurse Ludden never looked in on us, never cleaned up after us, so we just had to fend for ourselves most of the time. My roommates consisted of a former senator, who was committed by the state government for the fault of knowing a little bit too much, a young woman who used her husband’s money to liberate her kids from a highly abusive father, and a teenager who euthanized his dying mother because he did not want to see her suffer. It was heartbreaking to see all the other similar cases of people who really were not insane at all, but had just done something or other to get on the wrong side of someone who was rich and powerful.

“Ritter and Ludden took patients in based on the size of their family’s contributions to the hospital. No questions were asked. Examinations and tests were rarely ever done, but huge amounts of drugs were pushed onto the prescriptions of every patient’s care. They were to be kept quiet and sedated, just enough to give anyone from the outside world the impression that they were not in their right minds. The only way around the system, I was told, was to allow your body to build up a tolerance to the lowest dosage of medication that was given, and at that point to just behave the way that they expected you to. In that way, they wouldn’t up your dose. That is how I survived.

“Other patients who didn’t play the game were not so lucky, I’m afraid. Several just become stark raving mad and still others died, when their bodies could no longer take the medicinal punishment. Oh, and of course I didn’t tell you about the other patients who were beaten into submission.”

Holmes’ face reddened. His usual calmness and objectivity quickly faded away. “Those bloody bastards! How could they get away with such cruelties?”

Alfie sighed. “Administrator Topole did a good job herself on doctoring the books. She made sure that the institution’s taxes were paid on time, along with the bestowal of several grants to government sponsored agencies. By the way, I forgot to mention that Miss Topole herself had had no formal administrative education. Heck, Topole isn’t even her real name, actually. Jobeth Bailiff was admitted into the hospital as a little girl who was very intelligent, but exhibited violent schizophrenic tendencies. When she was committed, Ritter and Ludden saw the chance of molding her into the person that she has become now. 

“She was isolated from her orphanage caretakers and all former friends, and was turned into the cruel tyrant who you met on that day that you visited me. Ritter and Ludden had gotten away with this arrangement for years. They’d even started a highly prosperous drug exportation business. Years had passed and they had never gotten caught. Probably nothing would have been uncovered had it not been for you and Dr. Watson.”

Holmes scratched his head. “What exactly was it that we did?”

Alfie continued. “A certain security guard who worked at the hospital had retained some sense of conscience and dignity. When Ritter and Ludden tried to commit you guys, the guard took pity on you and researched who you were and why you were there. Well, it took him some time, but he finally found the courage to come clean to the cops about everything. He had a long talk with Inspector Traub, and of course, you know the rest. Within hours, the whole place was shut down. The patients were reevaluated by good, honest doctors. Most of them were immediately released. The others, who suffered lingering damages, were put into hospitals that would legitimately care for them. I guess that I was one of the lucky ones. I was released into the care of someone very capable, very caring and one who I wish to spend the rest of my life with.”

Alfie affectionately kissed Abigail. She laughed. “I’ll make sure that he behaves himself.”

Holmes sighed. What he had to say next would not come easy. “Miss Abigail, I do not know exactly how to phrase this. But do you know exactly what happened to your family while you were away?”

She looked as though she were about to faint. Holmes and Alfie carefully helped her to sit down. Alfie sat next to her and held her hand reassuringly. Holmes sat across from the couple and watched them carefully.

When she spoke, it was as though she was experiencing great pain. “Inspector Traub insisted on speaking with me about the tragedies. I know that my Uncle Luke was killed and that my father took his place, to ascertain the family’s share of the money. He died when Calinda shot him. Calinda fell down the stairs and died when Olivia pushed her. Also, in the commission of some horrible act of violence, Ericsohn shot my brother. You friend, Dr. Watson, in turn, shot Ericsohn in self defense. That’s all that I was told.”

Holmes lightly touched her hand. “Madam, you need to know how sorry I am. I am not good with comforting others, but I do offer my sympathies. If you have any questions of a procedural nature, I will try to answer to the best of my ability.” 

There was a pause in thought for everyone, which made Holmes feel really uncomfortable. He thought to himself silently: Damn it Holmes, you idiot! Her family has been ripped apart and it’s your own bloody fault! Moriarty was after you, but he dragged in all those poor, greedy fools--like sheep, going to the slaughter. They all died because of you, you worthless bastard! Nothing you can say to this woman can make up for the losses that you yourself have inflicted on her. So, just pick yourself up and get out of here before you ruin anybody else’s life!

During his mental tirade, Holmes heard Abigail’s voice, as she addressed him repeatedly. “Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes quickly recovered his presence. “Yes, my dear? Sorry, but for the moment, I was a little preoccupied.”

She smiled sympathetically. “I just wanted to say that in retrospect, I should have seen all this coming. Greed was always a motivating factor in my family. What had happened was tragic--but nonetheless, not completely unexpected. But I still wonder, if things had been different--” She broke down and cried. Holmes held one hand, Alfie held the other. 

Alfie gently stroked her cheek. “Don’t worry, Abby. You know that I love you. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you. Me and the baby, it’s all about us now.”

When she recovered a little, Holmes gently continued. “Miss Abigail, there is just one other thing that you should know. It’s concerning your brother. He knew about the baby and he was not angry. He spoke with me before he died and he assured me that he had set up a trust fund for you and the baby, and that you would both be well provided for. And--” He wanted to continue. He wanted to blurt out his thoughts: Abby, your brother Christian had taken a bullet for me. He died so that I could live. However, he could not summon the strength to make such an admission.

She gulped. “Is there something more, Mr. Holmes?”

He sighed. “I just wanted to say that he seemed to have proven himself to be a decent person at heart. Try to remember him in that light, if you can. Oh, by the by, you may want to hire a lawyer to check into that estate matter, considering his inheritance. You’ll probably find the endeavor to be quite worthwhile.”

She simply nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

Alfie got up and gently helped his fiancée get to her feet. “We need to be going, Mr. Holmes. Before we leave for my family home in Puerto Rico, we need to take her to one more medical consultation to make sure that she’s fit to travel. Dr. Kalpenn’s associate is certainly quite capable. I still can’t believe what happened to Rentuk. Who could have seen that coming?”

Holmes sighed. Helpless for an interminable moment in time, he could think of nothing to say. Finally, he just uttered a consolation, which bordered tediously on the all too obvious. “There is no simple explanation, Alfie.”

Alfie let out a breath. “If there’s one thing that I’ve learned from Junefield, it’s this: Nothing is as easy as it’s cracked up to be. No pun intended.” Holmes and Alfie shared an ironic laugh.

Abigail gave a small yelp. “Oh, Alfie, dear, I think that we really should be going now. I just felt the baby kick.”

He said, “Yes, dear.” He took her by the hand and then turned to Holmes. “Mr. Holmes, if ever you and Dr. Watson take a trip to the island, you’re welcome anytime to stay with us.”

Abigail smiled as well. “When you’re finally ready to retire, you might want to consider moving down there permanently. It’s beautiful, Mr. Holmes. The sun is always shining. The people are nice and friendly. You could make a good life for yourself, you know, you deserve it.”

Holmes sighed sadly. “If only you knew me better, Madam, you may not be so quick to ascertain what I deserve. No offense intended, of course. I wish you all the happiness in the world-- you, Alfie and the baby.” He struggled with his internal phobias and tried to reach out to hug them, but his arms just fell short. Alfie and Abigail reached forward to complete the hug. Nothing more could be said. They nodded to the older man respectfully as they slowly made their way towards the exit.

Holmes slowly headed for the terrace. He desperately needed a breath of fresh air. The mention of the name of Dr. Rentuk Kalpenn made him feel worse than he had ever felt since his arrival. It had all caught up with him now. As he walked towards the terrace, his fingers numbly reached into his pocket for a certain vial of medication, which he was able to find just by touch. He needed to be alone. 

He observed the other guests: Watson and Victoria were enjoying themselves. Big George had seemed to have made a new friend of Victoria’s former guardian Iris. Dawn was sitting at the same table with Traub and Baker. They seemed to be sharing a joke of some sort. 

Holmes thought: They all are where they should be in this world. They have all found their place. I do not belong with them. I do not deserve them. Indeed, they would most likely be better off without me. I will smoke one last pipe on the terrace and then depart quietly.

He lit his pipe and walked through the terrace doors. He heard coughing sounds in back of him and quickly turned around. Samantha looked at him with her arms crossed, pretending to be angry


	35. Chapter 35

“I never quite understood a man’s fascination with smoking tobacco. I tried to talk to Rentuk about his own silly smoking habit, but he wouldn’t listen either.”

Holmes smiled as he gently extinguished his pipe. “Smoking has always been a refreshing outlet for me to reflect and manage my life’s plans and ambitions. I did not mean to offend, Madam.”

Her face turned red. “But you have done nothing else but offend me, ever since I met you."

Holmes turned toward her quickly. “I beg your pardon, Madam. But aside from the details of the case, most of which focused around the tragic passing of your fiancé, I have hardly spoken with you at all. So, I am at a loss, Madam. How did I offend you?”

She took him firmly by the arm and backed him into a corner. “You are a complete wreck of a person. Your very existence offends me. How do you feel about that?”

Holmes shrugged. “I do not feel anything about anything, Madam.”

She did not back off, as he had hoped that she would. She just pulled closer and looked straight into his eyes. “My name is not ’Madam,’ Sherlock. My name is Samantha.”

Holmes struggled to breathe. “Please don’t do that. I am not good with this type of thing.”

She shook him lightly. “With what type of thing? Having a social relationship with anybody, even on the most basic level?”

He lightly pushed her away. “Yes, if you must know. Why does that bother you so much? What was I to you anyway before three days ago? Before I happened upon meeting you under the most tragically unpleasant of circumstances? Why should anything about my social dysfunction bother you so much? I helped you to avenge your fiancé’s death and perhaps take down the most ruthless drug ring in your state’s history. I ask you again, Mad-I mean, Miss Samantha, what have I done to offend you?”

She sighed. “You can solve the greatest cases in criminal history, but you can’t see two feet ahead of you from a human perspective. So much more the pity. Look, I can see that you’re not going to make this easy for me.” 

He pretended to groan, but it came out as more of a sad sigh. “If this is about my absence at the event yesterday afternoon, I don’t do funerals, Miss Samantha. Even Watson could tell you that much about me.”

He tried to pull away, but she would not let him go. “You’re probably going to, no doubt, excuse yourself by the fact that you needed time to attend to one or more important details of the case, with the fact of some type of imposing deadline--time being of the essence and all. You can rationalize all you want, you know, with everybody else, but not with me.”

He gazed into her eyes. “What do you want from me?”

She laughed sarcastically. “I want you to listen to me, as I tell you the real reason why you couldn’t bring yourself to attend Rentuk’s funeral. You blame yourself for his death. It’s as simple as that.”

His eyes widened. “No, Miss Samantha, it is not as simple as that. There is a devious criminal mastermind out there, who is--”

She pushed him up against a pillar. “Save it, Holmes! I know all about Moriarty. Remember, I worked in the DA’s office for the last fourteen years. You’re right, he is dangerous. Many of his minions are still out there, even in the colonies. Thanks to you, there are much fewer of them now, as opposed to years ago. I commend you on your work. He has no doubt tortured you throughout most of your childhood and adult life, and you have suffered and carried a great burden. I’ll grant you that. However, it does not take away from the truth of what I have just said. Think about it, Holmes. Put the facts together and see the hole in your logic. You go from blame to projection to self-righteousness to anger, but you still miss the big picture.”

He sighed heavily. “Very well, if you want the blunt truth. I’ll give it to you. I have faced Moriarty many times in the past and have successfully thwarted his evil plans. However, this time he has made it personal. He put innocent people in the way, one in particular who died tragically. If I had been a little quicker on the uptake and put the pieces together sooner, I could have uncovered the mystery, indicted the Robesons, and your fiancé would not have found it necessary to end his life. You need to understand that he killed himself in the way that he did because he felt the need to give me a clue about an Edgar Alan Poe story entitled ‘The Masque of The Red Death.’”

Samantha took a step closer to him. “You honestly believe that all the complications of understanding the reasons behind a man’s suicide is all about you and your little mystery? My fiancé was a very complex person. He had some serious problems, Mr. Holmes--things that you could not possibly even begin to comprehend--things that go beyond your little world of self importance, guilt and self pity.”

He turned away from her abruptly and cast a look downward on the city, which presented its lonely view from the terrace. “What would you understand about how I feel at this moment?” 

She shook her head, with great effort. “Mr. Holmes, when I was a teenage girl in high school, a little younger than Dawn actually, I had my first encounter with the Hazel Street Drug Gang. Actually, to be precise, they had started doing business in my area just three years earlier, when I had just barely entered my teens. Bad influences seeped through gradually, like searing poison, first among the older adults. It was never even noticed when a cancer-ridden, elderly man in a hospital would be prescribed a higher dose of morphine than was absolutely necessary. Gradually, however, the drugs changed hands faster, morphine changed into heroin, and the target crowd became young teenagers in school yards, bathrooms and dark alleyways.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “Quite sad. But you still have not answered my question.”

She gave him an annoyed stare. “You asked about how I could possibly understand how you feel. Well, here’s the answer: Before I met Rentuk in college, my first high school sweetheart was a handsome young man named Mark Weston. I’ll never forget him, Sherlock. He had the looks, the brains, the body, active in academics as well as all types of sports, well on his way to graduating at the top of his class. He came so close, only to have his life destroyed by drugs. It was the most tragic thing that I had ever seen. One of his misguided friends who fell victim to the Hazel Street Drug Gang got him into smoking the stuff, first just on social occasions. Even then, I could see how he started to fall off, in small ways--not quite as sharp, smart and well coordinated as he always was. But he assured me that he was fine and that he could quit anytime that he wanted to. However, such was not the case.

“The minor drugs turned into major drugs, and within months, he was hooked. His grades went down and his athletic abilities suffered drastically. Soon, he was completely hooked. He became hostile, angry and cruel between fixes and highs. That was when I broke up with him. I couldn’t bear to see him destroy himself. I thought that, given time, he would come to his senses. He didn’t. He drove his carriage off a cliff, while completely under the influence of some unknown mixture of street drugs. He wound up paralyzed from the waist down, confined to a wheelchair. The last that I heard of him was how he had gradually wasted away, losing all sense of self and later consciousness, dead at the age of twenty-five.

“I went to his funeral and have never quite forgotten the image of his corpse, a wasted, emaciated figure of bones and flesh. He didn’t even look human. The Hazel Street Drug Gang had destroyed him. I loved that man and they took him away from me. So, you cannot dare to tell me that I have no ability to understand how you feel, damn you!”

Holmes allowed himself to move closer to her. “Right then, my apologies. May I dare to inquire about how you didn’t let all that you felt bring you down and destroy you?” 

She paused before speaking. “It was at that point in time that I made it my life’s goal and ambition to bring them all down--every last dealer, importer, exporter, seller, buyer, financier, everybody from top to bottom who was associated with The Hazel Street Drug Gang. That is how I worked my way up to the DA’s office, being one of the only women to occupy that honored title. I had successfully brought down many parts of the organization, but I had never gotten to the ring leaders. The doctor, the nurse and the transporter that you helped me to indict were known as ’The Big Three,’ and ‘The Untouchables.’ Before you came along, I was no closer to finding them than I was when I had first signed on with the DA’s office. However, thanks to you, I have finally attained a well-needed sense of closure. Seeing those three put down once and for all made it all worth it for me.”

He looked at her sadly. “I am glad that you were able to find some type of meaning to this sad life of ours.”

She grabbed him by the sleeve. “And what about you, Sherlock? What is it that you want? What will it take to give you even the slightest bit of peace, of serenity?”

He shook his head and did not respond for a long time. The two stood at the terrace view. The city was looking up at them, but they were not looking down. For that moment in time, they were the only two people who existed. No spoken words could define what was about to happen next.


	36. Chapter 36

Dr. James Watson refilled his glass, and shared some wine with Nurse Victoria Amberling. Across from them, they watched attentively as Big George and Iris danced closely together. 

Victoria laughed, as she reached out her hand to James. “You know, those two do make a charming couple. Would you believe that a few moments ago, Daddy came up to me and asked if I minded if he and Iris started dating? I had to laugh at the irony: Usually it’s the other way around, a daughter would be asking her father that question. I suppose that times have changed.”

Watson smiled at her. “Actually, we’re the ones who were kept out of the loop, if you want to know the truth. You have been busy caring for your father and I have been occupied with--well, looking after one of the greatest criminal detectives of all time. So, we’ve both been rather preoccupied. Well, as they say, it’s never too late. We have found each other now. You know that I love you. That’s the important thing, right?”

She put on a serious face. “But you’re leaving tomorrow, James. So, we need to talk about something. We can’t put this off any longer. You know that I’ve inherited enough money from the default of the Robeson estate to keep me and my father comfortable for a long time to come. When Miss Walden comes back from her vacation with Dawn, she has promised to represent my father in a class action law suit against New Jersey Multi-Transit and its insurance company. When the smoke clears, he’ll probably have more money than we’ll know what to do with. He’ll finally be able to get the prosthesis that he needs and he’ll no longer be living in any pain. Dad and I have talked at length about what we want to do with our money. It didn’t take us long to decide. We consulted with Miss Walden and Iris about the plan and they would like to be a part of it as well.”

Watson’s face indicated a puzzled expression. “What plan?”

She smiled openly. “As you know, James, Junefield Hospital has permanently closed its’ doors. So, the property will be up for sale on the open market. I have already put in a bid and chances are, it will be accepted without opposition. We discussed opening up a new type of hospital on that same location, one that specializes in a new type of medicine. Samantha told us that Rentuk had a dream about starting a branch of specialty known as ’Diagnostic Medicine.’ So, we all agreed that we would pool our money together, get some really good doctors into the project and open up the new ’Rentuk Kalpenn Hospital For Diagnostic Medicine.’ We then discussed about who we wanted to be the director of the project. We all came to the same conclusion, unanimously. We want you, James.”

Watson ran his fingers through his hair. “Victoria, I really don’t know what to say.”

She held his hand tightly. “Please say ’yes,’ James.”

He looked up at her. “You phrased your proposition in the plural: We want you. I wonder though, is we or is it you? Do you want me, Victoria?”

She turned her head from side to side, confused. “Well, of course, I want you. You know that. But beyond you and I, I mean, judging by your article, you have the brains for this type of work; I know that you do.”

He looked directly at her. “Judging by my article? What about the time that we spent together? What about the things that we talked about when I visited you at the police station? What about--what about last night?”

She sighed. “Well, of course that means something, you silly man. If you decide to stay out here with us, we could have a whole lifetime to explore all that we mean to each other, on that level.”

He looked at her face to face, seriously, making complete eye contact. “On that level? You sound like a relationship with me is some type of abstraction of sorts? This is not rocket science, Victoria. I simply need to know one thing: Do you love me?”

She paused before speaking. “James, with all that I’ve been through, I cannot think about love. I enjoy your company and the time that we spend together. Especially, last night, which I hope will have many repeat performances, by the way. And maybe someday, what I feel for you could evolve into love. I need some time, James. Who knows--maybe someday, I could very well fall madly and deeply in love with you.”

He released his hand from her grip. “Or you could dump me for somebody else as soon as the new hospital is opened up and running successfully.”

She looked at him sadly. “Why do you think I would ever do such a thing? Why can’t you just trust, hope for the best and live life day by day?”

He shook his head. “Perhaps it’s the company that I keep. For better or for worse, he has influenced me in some way.”

She snorted contemptuously. “I think I know the truth. You prefer his company over mine. Either that or he has poisoned your judgment in some way. He’s a lonely, bitter man, James. You don’t need him. He can take care of himself.”

Watson sighed. “That’s just it, Victoria. I really don’t believe that he can take care of himself. He can’t be left alone. He’s extremely self-destructive and-and extremely vulnerable. I can’t leave him. He needs me.”

She let out a gasp of air. “Are you sure that it’s not the other way around?”

His face reddened. He did not know how to answer her, so he decided to deviate slightly to the matter of their relationship. “If you’re serious about us making a go of it as a couple, have you considered a difference in location for that hospital of yours? Could not a Hospital of Diagnostic Medicine have the potential to fare just as well across the pond, as opposed to here in the colonies?”

She gently took his hand. “I’m sorry, James. I’m not ready to make that kind of a change.”

He nodded sadly and kissed her hand. “Then, I am sorry too. I will miss you.”

He slowly walked away. She gently held him back. “James? What can I do to change your mind?”

He gently removed her hand from his arm. “It’s not about you, Victoria. It’s me. Maybe I’m the one who’s old-fashioned and needs to change and is not ready to move on. Or maybe, just perhaps, my walking away from here and everything that staying here could offer me is my own buggered up and dysfunctional way of moving on. I don’t quite know, actually. Either way, I do wish you well.”

She smiled sadly. “Give my regards to the old bugger.”

He nodded respectfully. “Quite.” He tipped his hat and then slowly walked out to the terrace. 

He would have to find his friend. Most likely, he was getting into some type of mischief or doing something or other that was self destructive or--

When he opened the terrace doors, he could not believe what he saw. Sherlock Holmes and Samantha Walden were sitting together on a stone bench in a deep embrace; to be more exact, she was sitting on his lap and they were--they were kissing!

Watson opened his mouth wide. All thoughts of social protocol disappeared, as he uttered his friend’s name in profound surprise. “Holmes?!”

The two quickly disentangled themselves and straightened their clothing. “Er--Watson. We were just--”

Watson walked backwards towards the terrace doors, shaking his head. “Save it, Holmes. I--I don’t even want to know. I’ll be inside drinking myself silly, soaking my head and vomiting my brains out--not necessarily in that order.” He turned around and quickly walked through the terrace doors and slammed them shut.

Samantha’s eyes met Holmes’ and they both laughed. She was the first to speak. “Your friend is certainly quite possessive. You’re lucky to have him. He takes good care of you.”

He regarded her affectionately as he slowly eased back into reality. “Quite.” 

She got up from his lap and slowly paced around him. “So, the old cliché needs to be brought up: Where do we go from here?”

He thought for a moment before responding. “You were saying that you needed a vacation of sorts from this place. Why don’t you take Dawn and travel across the pond with us tomorrow? I’m sure that you both will have a fabulous time.”

She openly laughed. “You and I do better when we don’t talk. You know what I meant and you just wanted to delay the difficult questions and decisions that need to be made.”

Holmes looked at her seriously. “It is too soon for you to be asking such questions. A man whom you loved very deeply has just died, not 48 hours ago. You are needy and vulnerable. I would not be a gentleman if I took advantage.” 

Samantha sadly turned to him. “That is the first thing that you said all night that I am in agreement with. However, it does come with a slight twist of self-indulgence on your part. ”

He wrinkled his brow. “Whatever do you mean?”

She laughed. “You don’t want to leave him, do you?”

Holmes face reddened. “Samantha, I assure you--”

She put her fingers to his lips to silence him. “Ah, you had just shown the exception that proves the rule. Before this moment, you had never addressed me as Samantha, without the prefix of ‘Miss.’ Before that, you just called me ‘Madam.’ However, my reference to your relationship with Dr. Watson sparked the first real sense of human emotion that I had ever seen in you. You needn’t answer my question. Res Ipsa Loquator, Mr. Holmes.” 

He sighed. “The thing is evident by it’s own presence. Good analogy, Miss Samantha.”

She sat down beside him and put her head on his shoulder. “So, once again, where does that leave us?”

Holmes gently caressed her hair. “My invitation is still open, you know. You and Dawn could have a capitally good time with Watson and I. It would clear your head to get away from here. It does not have to lead to anything else other than spending some time together, if that’s all that you wish to do.”

She looked up at him seriously. “I don’t believe you to be strong enough and neither am I. One or both of us is going to get hurt. We can’t do this--not now, anyway.”

He nodded sadly. “So, what do we do now? Just sit here quietly without talking, like we were doing before?”

She did not answer verbally. Her fingers touched his lightly. Volumes of unspoken words were conveyed one to another as they once again embraced.


	37. Chapter 37

The next day, the sun shone brightly. The weather was beautiful. The train ride to the boat docking port was scenic and beautiful. The first thing that Big George Amberling did, when he was assigned the supervisory position which was previously held by Mr. Lawrence Johnson, was to assure top of the line transportation for his two friends. They rode in luxury and enjoyed comfortable seating in a well-heated passenger car. They were almost asleep when Montgomery announced that they were at the boat docking port. Holmes offered the young man a generous tip, which he steadfastly refused. 

The next mode of transportation was quite different, however. They boarded the boat quietly and without ceremony. They were just treated like any other passengers, with no special distinction or attention. Somehow, Holmes preferred being treated in this way. He could not put into words exactly why. It was just how he felt. 

After unpacking and stowing their luggage in their cabin, they sat down and got comfortable. Watson immediately opened his newspaper. The whistle blew and the ship was on its way. Holmes lit his pipe and looked out the window. He watched the Jersey shore receding further and further away and enjoyed the consistency of the back and forth motion. 

An hour passed and nothing was said between the two men. Holmes was the first to break the silence. “All right, Watson, let’s stop playing games, old chap. You’re angry at me. What the bloody hell is eating at you? Out with it, man!”

Watson shook his head in a gesture of sarcasm. “Why, whatever gave you that idea?”

Holmes laughed bitterly. “Only the way that you have treated me since this morning. When in the presence of public company, you went out of your way to be extra courteous to me. However, whenever we had a moment of silence to ourselves, you broke out your newspaper, opened one of your medical manuals, wrote in your journals--anything and everything else, but say a solitary word to me! Now what in the world is eating at you?”

Watson sighed. “Inspector Traub and Warden Baker spent an awful lot of money to pay for a hotel room for us, so that we could sleep in comfort on our last night here in the colonies. But you know what, Holmes? Although I was lying on the one of the softest mattresses that I had ever experienced in my life, being lodged in one of the most luxurious of colonial hotels, I could not get a wink of sleep. Why, you may ask? I’ll tell you why! I was bloody crazed out of my mind worried about you! When I walked away from the terrace to give you your privacy, you and Miss Samantha disappeared somewhere. You gave nobody any warning or word. For all that I knew, you could have been lying somewhere dead in an alley! For all that I knew, maybe one of Moriarty’s boys had gotten to you. So I feared the worst. 

“I had just made up my mind to get up, put on my clothes and trounce about town looking for you, when you saunter in at three in the morning, humming the British National Anthem. Well, I was bloody well on the point of explosion, when I heard that.”

Holmes looked at him, puzzled. “Is that your way of playing ‘detective?’ "

Watson laughed out loud. “That and the fact that as you were sleeping, I noticed the bite marks on your neck. And don’t even try to say that you were attacked by some type of wild animal!”

Holmes looked at him oddly. “I was, old chap.”

Watson shook his head. “A certain human female who has well maintained, sharp teeth, that just happen to have a slight space between the two in the front. No two women have the same dental structure, Holmes. In short, I know what you did last night!”

Holmes scratched his beard, almost enjoying the moment. “Indeed, Watson. Was it any different from what you were doing two nights ago with Miss Victoria, when you did not deem it necessary to make even the slightest announcement of where you were going, and when you would be returning? ”

Watson’s face reddened. “So that’s what justifies the whole thing? Is that your childish way of getting even with me? ”

Holmes answered methodically. “Watson, old chap, I did not plan on any of that happening. It just did. No other explanation.”

Watson was still not satisfied. “A man who counts his socks and is obsessive about folding his underwear from left to right does not do 'spur of the moment.’ “

Holmes sighed. “It’s been a long time since Irene Adler, you know. And talk about affairs of the heart, I’ve seen how the ladies on our cases look at you. Especially that Miss Morstan from the case you dubbed “The Sign of the Four”. Even young Dawn looked at you with adoring eyes. So, my friend, I will not listen to any arguments asserting your innocence in such matters as liaisons with the fairer sex.”

Watson paused before speaking. “That’s not it, Holmes. I think that I would grant any ordinary man his little dalliances. But you’re anything but ordinary. You’re world renowned. You’re a symbol of the English Common Justice system at its best. You represent something important. And everything that you do means something. Inspector Traub was looking for you last night. He wanted to give you this.” He took out a little package from his pocket and threw it to Holmes. “Here, catch.”

Holmes caught it quickly. He opened the small package and unwrapped a medal with an inscription on the bottom and he read it aloud. “Hmm, ‘The American Medal of Criminal Justice’. Quite an honor. When we get back to Baker Street, I’ll send the good inspector a telegraph of acknowledgment.”

Watson’s eyes narrowed. “Holmes, you bloody arse! You don’t have the slightest conception of the value of the type of honor that has been bestowed upon you. In the history of colonial America, there have been only ten men who had been given this medal--all of them American. You are the first British subject to get such an award. Doesn’t any of that mean anything to you?”

Holmes shrugged. “It would make a decorative piece to hang above the fireplace, along with all the other awards that I’ve received.”

Watson sighed. “Do you value anything that award represents?”

Holmes looked directly at Watson. His voice burned with anger. “How could you, of all people, my closest friend, possess the unmitigated gall to ask such a question? I risk my life with every case that we’ve been assigned to. People get hurt. Especially this last Robeson case. For a while, I felt that I was going mad, Watson. Do you hear that? Do you have any concept of how that feels, old chap? To see one body after another fall down aimlessly, without reason, without purpose? To witness the fall of a good man, a man who had a family, honest and smart, but who tragically killed himself as a product of a corrupt system of incomprehensible evil? To see a young woman, not too much older than our Tamara, who had become so corrupted by the man who came to be her caretaker, that she would never have any shred of judgment or conscience left to know the difference between good and evil? That was probably the greatest tragedy of all. And your good Inspector Traub thinks that this piece of worthless metal is enough to compensate me for all that I’ve seen, lived and experienced, in this past week. It’s rubbish Watson, damned rubbish! Is it not enough that I solved the bloody case?”

Watson stared at him with tears in his eyes. “You never quite expressed yourself in that way. I never knew that you--”

Holmes waved off the rest of what he was going to say with a dismissive gesture. “Never you mind, old chap. I would rather not finish this line of conversation. I do not fancy the display of emotion in any manner.”

“I understand,” Watson said quietly.

Holmes took out his flask, took a sip of brandy and offered it to Watson. He accepted, with a nod of thanks. 

Watson was the first to speak afterwards. “You know, Holmes. I think that I understand better as to why you did not want to accept George’s offer to upgrade our ship passage to VIP status. The inspector and the warden had given him the money to do so on their behalf, after all. But we needn’t talk about it now, if you don’t wish to.”

Holmes took another sip out of his flask. “Thank you. As I explained to Mr. Amberling, the money could be put to far better use if it were donated to that new hospital project that everybody seemed to be so excited about.”

Watson could not resist, putting in just one more jibe. “I still can’t help thinking that we could have had our own private cabin, with complementary champagne and any other delicacy that we could order, brought to us by cute little maids in short skirts and black stockings, with red satin garters--”

Holmes’ eyes bulged. “Watson!”

Watson laughed. “It doesn’t matter, old man. I was just teasing.”

Holmes stared at him coldly. “Yes, but you did make a point, however. I could use some time away from the same old routine. When we get off the boat, I would like to take some long overdue vacation time. I haven’t seen the mountain country of North Scotland in a dog’s age. Or in our own country for that matter, I can’t remember when I visited Westminster Abbey, or the Tower, or Big Ben. You do understand, old boy? You could handle the affairs of Baker Street on your own for a while, couldn’t you? I should think that you would be glad to be rid of me for a fortnight or two. You could catch up with your patients, pay a visit to your special friend Mary Morstan. If you need some extra cash to tide you over--”

Watson laughed bitterly. “You mean to tell me that you run me half way about the bloody globe to encounter the Robesons, the Hazel Street Drug Gang and Moriarty, but when we make a clean sweep of things, you say now that you need to take a vacation alone?!”

Holmes sighed. “Well, I just thought--” 

Watson was at the point of yelling. His neck veins were bulging. “That’s the trouble with you! You either think too much or you don’t think at all!”

For the first time, Holmes looked puzzled. “How is that possible, exactly?”

Watson put his head in his hands. “I don’t know, Holmes. For any normal person, it is not possible. But for you--”

Holmes laughed. “There’s the flaw in your logic, my friend. Did I ever once claim to be anything at all like any normal person?”

Watson shared the laugh. “No! But what does that make me then, for choosing your companionship?”

Holmes retorted, halfway sarcastically. “Well, nobody is twisting your arm, old chap. You could leave at any time.”

Watson let out a long breath. “And leave you to your own devices? No, thank you!”

Holmes put his hands together. “So then, are you saying that you don’t trust me to look after myself while I’m on vacation? In that case, logic follows that you would feel a certain obligation to accompany me.”

Watson rolled his eyes up to the ceiling of their cabin. “Well, someone bloody has to.”

Holmes smiled widely and said, “To us, my friend.” After taking another sip from his flask, he handed it to Watson. 

Watson drank, with a sense of resignation. “Holmes, you’re one of a kind, my friend.”

Holmes wrinkled his brow. “That’s actually not possible, Watson, considering that there are two of us.”

Watson sighed. “Holmes, for just this one time, could you just stop talking and drink!”

Holmes answered without words as he took back the flask that Watson offered to him, laughed and then drank heartily.

THE END


End file.
